


The Answer

by sonatas



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Drama & Romance, M/M, Road Trips, Slow Burn, Supernatural Elements, references to past physical and sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-11
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:08:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 185,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11767422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonatas/pseuds/sonatas
Summary: When a phone call informing him of his father’s death sends him on an unexpected and unwanted trip back to his childhood home, Murdoc finds himself confronted with more questions about his origins than he ever could have anticipated. Who knew a couple shoe boxes, left to gather dust in his father’s closet, could contain such heart-wrenching secrets. And why is 2D so invested? Post-canon. 2Doc.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> UPDATE 9/14/18: This story was conceptualized and started August 2017. Some of the details may not be up-to-date with the current lore. Tweaks to story events, conversations and character development will be ongoing. Thank you for your patience!

“It’s never the changes we want that change everything.”  
  
— Junot Díaz, _The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao_

* * *

 

It’s dark and he’s running. Ahead, he sees nothing but darkness, empty and opaque. What concerns him, no, terrifies him, is what is behind him. He doesn’t dare look but as the heat of its ragged breath hits the back of his neck he imagines it to be some sort of grotesque monster. Inside, his heart pounds frantically, his throat tightens and tightens, making breathing nearly impossible. He doesn’t know where he is running to but he knows that he can never stop because is he stops, it will catch him. It’s a feeling of helpless terror that festers in the pit of his stomach. He could be trapped like this forever, running with no destination. Briefly, he considers turning around to face it, but the paralyzing fear that follows seems to physically repel him. When he feels something claw at his shoulder and he emits a small sob. He doesn’t think he can run any faster.

 _Murdoc,_ he hears a voice call, distant yet urgent.

_Murdoc._

_Murdoc._

“Murdoc!”

Murdoc’s eyes snap open.

He’s alive. His heart still beats hard against his chest as if he just finished running a marathon and his breath still comes out ragged and frantic, but he knows now that it was just a nightmare, an all too familiar nightmare.

“You want to tell me again why you’re here if you can’t even stay awake for ten minutes.”

He faces a different unpleasant reality now, starting with a pounding headache. Then there’s the blinding shine from the sun, the musty smell of month old air fresheners, and then to the sputtering of the engine of Russel’s old truck as he presses his foot on the gas. To top it all off is the drone of the radio host of whatever NPR show Russel has on rambling on about coffee culture in different countries.

Murdoc doesn’t bother looking up or sitting up, but if he did, he would expect to see Russel glaring at him from the rearview mirror.

“Well you know, Russ, driving around with you isn’t exactly what I would call the high octane thrill of the century. If you know what I mean.” Murdoc tries to sound as calm and collected as he can while he wipes a shaky hand across his brow. Instead he focuses on keeping his breaths short and shallow, like his counselor in primary school once told him.

“There’s no way you dragged your hungover ass out of bed for this out of the goodness of your heart,” Russel continues. “And there’s no way you doing this out of concern for 2D because if you were, you would have been awake and out the door with him when Noodle was ready to drop him off this morning.”

The dreams had only become more frequent since the tour ended. Years of time spent in prison filled with empty and monotonous days had taught Murdoc that not being busy and subsequently, distracted, resulted in a nosedive for his mental health. When the rest of the band voted to focus their time after the tour entirely on repairing relationships and not new music or business partnerships, the dismay Murdoc remembers feeling was staggering. That option left him with little to preoccupy himself with other than his mind which so far had only resulted in dreams and his usual mix of distorted and unpredictable thinking he experienced when he was awake. What option did that leave him with other than to drink?

“2D should know better than to schedule these things so early on a bloody Friday morning.”

The truck hits a speed bump which nearly sends him flying off the seat and onto the floor. Cursing, he fumbles around in the pocket of his jacket with the hope that he had somehow remembered to bring along his emergency flask of vodka. He finds nothing.

“It’s 4:15 pm.” Russel’s tone is blunt. “And this is the third time you’ve been a no-show to these appointments out of the five times we’ve actually scheduled them. I almost wasn’t going to let you come now but I guess I keep hoping that one day you’re going to surprise me.”

“Is it so difficult to picture _me_ , Murdoc Niccals, wanting to tag along with you to pick up 2D from his -no, sorry _our_ \- therapy appointment so that I could apologize to him in person and re-schedule? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be working on, owning up to my mistakes? This is behavior you should, er, what is it they say? Positively reinforce? This is behavior you should be positively reinforcing Russ, this is very responsible of me.”

“That’s not what you said this morning. All you said this morning was ‘I’m coming’ and crawled in the back seat. And you’re still in the same clothes from yesterday.”

Murdoc winces as Russel makes a sharp left turn, the motion sending a new wave of nausea through his body.

“If you don’t stop driving like a lunatic I’m going to puke all over the backseat.”

“And you’re gonna be the one cleaning it up. Maybe if you were responsible with your alcohol intake last night, a normal car ride turns wouldn’t feel so bad.”

Russel was going to use their time together as a teaching moment, apparently. Murdoc rolls his eyes. On a better day he would have happily gone toe to toe with him but today he’s disadvantaged by his heightened state of anxiety and immense hangover. So instead, he chooses to remain silent with the hope that Russel will leave him alone. 

“But really, Muds. What gives?”

Murdoc entertains the thought of just telling Russel he has no intention of ever going to therapy with 2D. But when he remember the level of enthusiasm 2D has expressed for their “healing process” (those were Noodle’s words, not Murdoc’s) and the different projects they were covertly working on he decides against it. It had already taken them a long time to get the point where they were now and so, Murdoc still had lapses in judgement and there were periods where 2D avoided him for days simply because he didn’t want to be around him. For the most part, however, the band was the most stable they had been in years. From his perspective, that they were spending time together without having an album to promote spoke volumes all on its own. And he attributed none of that progress to therapy.

“I’m going to re-schedule, okay? So don’t worry your spirit-infested head about it. I just need to talk to him about something and I know whenever _you_ pick him up, you always end taking forever to get home doing whatever it is you do and that can’t happen today,” Murdoc says as he gingerly begins to push himself up into a sitting position, stretching as he does. His back lets out a satisfying crack and he breathes a sigh of relief. “Besides, s’not really any of your business anyways.” The chance that Russel was going to find out at some point anyways was highly probable.

“Whatever you say.”

Satisfied with where the conversation has ended, Murdoc cracks the window in the backseat open as far as it can go and leans his head against the window. He needs some fresh air and time to passively watch scenery go by to take his mind off of the headache and nausea. His reverie is soon interrupted as Russel hits a particularly deep pothole. The impact sends his forehead flying into the window sill with a dull thud.

As he groans, he hears the drummer chuckling from the front seat.

“Oh haha. Murdoc suffering. I’m sure you found that fucking hilarious.”

Russel takes a moment to compose himself and clear his throat before replying, “It’s…It’s not that. I just..I don’t know. I don’t get you at all sometimes, man.” He pauses. “And yeah, you got me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find something very satisfying about watching you of all people misjudge the risks of leaning your head against the window with hangover, or the fact that you even got into a car with a hangover.”

Murdoc leans back in his seat and rests his right arm over his eyes. They just need to get to the office, pick up 2D and be done with it.

“What did you do to yourself last night anyway? Or should I say, what _didn’t_ you do to yourself last night?” Russel presses. “You look awful, more awful than usual.”

It happened the way it always happens. A long day of nothing would turn into a long night of nothing. Murdoc would feel restless and uneasy with his thoughts and instead of waiting around to confront them, he would leave. Bars in the states were open around the clock, so there was never a shortage of places to go.

Murdoc only sniffs in response.

By now, Russel understands that his attempts at the teasing humor he often engaged in with Murdoc was not going to get him anywhere today. “Well, I hope that whatever it was, it was fun,” he says with a sigh.

“It’s never fun,” Murdoc states flatly. As he looks out of the window he notices their destination in the distance. Finally.

Murdoc had only ever been in the tall, brick office building twice and of those visits he only really remembers one. He left that appointment feeling scrutinized, anxious and with the understanding that it was probably the only place where he didn’t want to be the center of attention. Years of using his own sketchy medical “credentials” and celebrity status to tailor his psychiatric care to his own liking didn’t make it any easier.

Russel shifts the vehicle into park and took out his phone. “I’m going to let him know we’re here.”

Internally grateful that the drummer isn’t ordering him to go into the office to re-schedule in person, Murdoc rests his head against the - now still - window. He’s worn out and sluggish but he doesn’t dare close his eyes. Instead he allows his mind to wander to 2D, what he might have talked about in his impromptu individual session. He wonders what was said about him, too, because he knows his absence was noted.

As if on cue, his phone starts ringing.

“Really, Muds? _Smoke on the Water_? Still?”

“What do you mean ‘still’? It’s my brand, Russ. Not that I would expect you understand any of that,” Murdoc says as he stares at the number, noting the UK area code briefly before sending it to his voicemail.

“Was that 2D? You didn’t just hang up on him did you?”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “Always with the assumptions. But for the record, no and no; likely just some twat with the wrong number.”

But it isn’t just any wrong number. Murdoc recognizes it as the same number that has been calling him for the past few days. Initially, his first instinct was to block it but once he let his imagination to takeover that option all but disappeared. It was flattering that some unknown person out there was so obsessed with him that they couldn’t help but call him repeatedly. Were they a hacker? A deranged fan? Whoever it was wanted his attention enough to be calling internationally but how much farther would they go for it? It was annoying, intriguing and strange all at the same time, but it still wasn’t enough to make him want to pick it up. If it was attention that they wanted, they would have to do a little bit more than call.

“Well maybe you should try him because he still hasn’t responded to me and I’m not trying to get stuck here in the parking lot with you.” Russel scans his surroundings suspiciously, “And with all these office buildings. Who knows what shady business they’re up to in there. You know some of them are essentially government sanctioned criminal organizations? They just don’t care because they’re the one that line their pockets. They’re probably watching us right now. I don’t trust them.”

“Oh? and what do you think they think about you? Loitering about in a truck that looks like it’s straight out of _Deliverance._ They probably think we just came from some massacring some hitchhikers in the woods.”

This time it’s Russel’s phone that starts to ring.

“It’s 2D. He says he sees us and he’ll be here in a minute, so we can leave soon. Good.” 

Murdoc looks up to see the singer just a few feet from the car, appearing to be in good spirits. Despite his own experiences he can’t deny the effect the individual therapy was having on him. 2D had always an affable and hopeful demeanor, but lately Murdoc had begun to notice a quiet confidence in him that made it seem less like his hallmark optimism came from naiveté and more like it came from an inner strength Murdoc never thought he had.

“Door’s unlocked,” Russel calls from inside the vehicle. As 2D opens the door he adds, “Good talk?”

“Yeah, I’d say it was, but we didn’t really talk much today,” he replies. He doesn’t acknowledge Murdoc, and Murdoc takes this to mean that 2D is either intentionally ignoring him or being oblivious as usual. “I did some singing and then I did some writing in my journal about why I chose each song.”

Murdoc perks up at the mention of the journal. It’s exactly as he had expected.

Unaware of Murdoc’s internal revelation 2D continues, “Then she asked me who I was singing for and, well, I...I couldn’t quite answer that one, but it’s something she told me to think about this week.”

At that point, Murdoc can’t help himself. “Really? We’re paying over a hundred dollars an hour for 2D to have singing lessons?”

“You were supposed to be singing right there with him,” Russel shoots back.

2D turns to the back. He has a pleasant smile on his face effectively hiding whether or not he’s bothered by Murdoc’s presence. “Oh, um, hi, Murdoc. You missed our appointment today.”

“Did I? I didn’t know.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. “But that’s besides the point. You took the journal today.”

2D furrows his brow. “I did,” he says after a moment.

“So that’s what this is about? A journal?” Russel asks as he pulls the truck out of the parking lot.

Murdoc ignores him. “Well, you weren’t supposed to because I needed it.”

“I thought you were coming this morning so I figured we would talk about it there. But Noodle said you were completely passed out and refused to move,” 2D replies matter of factly.

“Exactly! You’re not supposed to talk about the journal when I’m not there."

“No, there’s a part of the journal that’s just me, and then there’s the other half which is about us because you never wanted to buy your own. If you had...” 2D trails off, hesitant but it is brief and he quickly becomes more resolved. “...If you had your own then you wouldn’t have to worry about me taking it. Or if you came then we could talk about it there, I was even singing today.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Murdoc sees Russel is eyeing both of them suspiciously.

“If I was there? You actually think she would have allowed us to do anything other than ‘talk about feelings?’ You’re even more of an idiot than I thought.”

“You don’t know what she would have allowed us to do because you don’t know her.” 2D remains undeterred. “And that’s because you’re never there.”

“Don’t tell me you’re doing what I think you’re doing...” Russel sounds tired.

“No,” Murdoc says. “We’re not doing anything of the sort.”

“Actually yes we are,” 2D counters.

Murdoc freezes. Russel was going to find out about what they were doing today after all.

“We’re, um, we’re writing some new songs.”

Murdoc glares at the back of his head and growls, “Why you-”

“I knew it!” Russel takes a moment to gloat before turning his attention back to Murdoc. Once again the bassist finds himself on the receiving end of a rearview mirror glare. “And cool it with the temper. What kind of grand plan was that? Saying it’s ‘none of my business’ and then talking about it right in front me...that’s a new low for you, Muds. You want to explain yourself?”

“Well,” Murdoc begins. “To start, it was him that came to me.”

“Is that true?” Russel asks 2D.

2D looks down at his hands. Murdoc can almost hear the wheels turning in his head trying to find the right words to say. _Should’ve thought about that before ratting us out_ , he thinks to himself.

“What Murdoc is saying is...uh, he isn’t lying.”

“Don’t think you have to listen to him, D,” Russel persists. “This is what we’re trying to work on.”

“No, it’s okay,” 2D continues, ”What happened was I couldn’t sleep. And whenever I can’t sleep  I always like to kinda sing my favorite pop records to myself whenever that happen. And then I get this idea for a song all on my own and I had to play it out, you know? I wanted it to be my own song and all that but it, it felt like it was missing something and Murdoc was awake too, and he’s got that big piano in his room so I-”

“He came to my room- without knocking - asking if he could use some of the words _I_ wrote in the back of his journal for a song and the rest should be obvious enough.”Murdoc rubs his temples. If he let 2D go on, he would ramble for the rest of the ride home, and that would be terrible for his headache and his mood and by extension, everyone else in the car.

“And you didn’t think that would be a bad idea? You didn’t consider the agreement we all made and how that would go directly against that? You’re so predictable, Muds.”

“Me? You’re really going to put this all on me?” Murdoc is genuinely perplexed at Russel’s response.

“Yeah,” Russel replied. “I am. And you know why. Or you should know why. Christ, this is the band at stake and you still can’t bring yourself to follow through on anything. I don’t know what more of push you need, I really don’t.”

“We’re a band, what else are we supposed to be doing? What else do we know how to do?” _What else do I know how to do?_ Murdoc thinks the last question, but he doesn’t say it.

“For your own sake, hopefully something else. That’s your problem, Muds, the problem you _said_ you were committed to working on, and that’s seeing something of value in 2D other than a paycheck.”

“And who said we were even planning on releasing what we’re writing? It’s in 2D’s therapy journal after all. It’s ‘healing.’”

As they argue 2D remains silent. Murdoc glances at him staring out the window with a blank expression on his face and concludes that he’s being left to fend for himself. The inaction stings, considering 2D had asked him to continue writing at their last meeting, but it isn’t anything Murdoc hadn’t grown used to over the course of his life. Besides, he’s confident in his ability to direct all of that irritation towards Russel.  However, his phone pings before he can start.

A quick look down reveals that it’s a voicemail from that same unknown number that’s been calling him. He assumes it’s from the most recent call he received.

Finger hovering over the notification, he runs through names of groups and individuals he’s dealt with in the past, deals he had left open, unfulfilled promises he had made, anyone who could possibly be after him. He smirks. Perhaps his life could be interesting again after all. However for the time being, it would have to wait.

“Ugh, whatever. So anyhow I’m going to make this short. Yes, 2D and I are writing music and yes, I fully intend to continue writing what could be our newest hit later today. No, he doesn’t have to keep working with me if he doesn’t want to but this is something _I_ want to do for my own sanity. Oh, and I’ll go to our next therapy appointment. Satisfied?”

Russel sighs. “If you want the honest answer, then no, I’m not. This is a lot more serious than you’re treating it right now so I’m going to talk to Noodle about this when we get home to see how we’d like to handle this as a group, you know, because I don’t only think about myself. But I’m not going to spend any more energy on this for today  because I know you’re going to do what you want regardless of what I say.”

Murdoc shrugs. It’s something to worry about, but not something he needs to worry about now. Russel was going to leave him alone and that was what mattered. “Right so, 2D…”

He watches as the singer moves abruptly from a slouch to sitting straight up at the sound of his voice.

“I’m going to need that journal or at a bare minimum, my pages, right now. Come or don’t come but I need to work on this before I forget everything and I’m already behind.”

2D hesitates momentarily, glancing quickly of to Russel and then back to the window. “Uh...Got it,” he says, shifting in his seat before turning around with the entire notebook in his hand. “Here you go.”

Murdoc reaches out to accept the book, and he is taken aback when the singer does not let go right away like he’s trying to initiate a game of tug-o-war. Frowning, Murdon looks up. He’s about to ask him what the hell is the matter with him when he’s met with 2D’s gaze. Murdoc knows that gaze. 2D is studying him, searching for answers to unspoken questions Murdoc will never tell him.

Uneasy now, the bassist gives the notebook another tug and clears his throat. “Er, 2D...you can let go anytime now.”

Picking up on the awkward energy, 2D’s eyes soften.

“I wrote some notes down by your verse,” he replies. Still, he looks pensive, but he doesn’t say anything else. Then he lets the book go.

* * *

 

His personal mission complete, Murdoc spends the rest of the drive looking out the window imagining all the Ibuprofen he plans to take once they get back to the house. In the background, Russel provides his own commentary on the current NPR story which has since shifted from coffee culture around the world to something about “responsible agriculture.” 2D interjects with tangentially related stories such as his favorite kind of soup as a child and whether he and Noodle should start a zen garden together and Murdoc wonders if they’re deliberately trying to make him fall asleep again.

He is at the end of his patience by the time they park and, with 2D’s journal in hand, he goes directly to his room without another remark. He spends the first few minutes digging through the pile of blankets in search of his flask filled with week old vodka and commemorates the reunion with a long drink, grimacing in satisfaction at the burn in his throat that follows. The Ibuprofen is a mere afterthought now.

When he is satisfied with his buzz, he turns his attention back to the notebook he’s set down beside him. Grabbing it along with the flask, he makes his way over to his piano and sets them both on the stand. He then begins to flip through the pages in search of pages with his handwriting. It doesn’t prove to be an easy task and it takes him multiple attempts to find his lyrics, which, due the amount of notes and commentary that decorate the page, are nearly illegible.

“Talk about beating a dead horse,” he mumbles to himself.

However, it isn’t the lyrics Murdoc is concerned with at the moment, it’s the chords. He had been trying to remember the hook he heard in his head since the night before, and now, with everything he needed right in front of him, it only returns to him in fragments.

Unwilling to let that discourage him, he plays what he thinks might be close to what was in his head. After about an hour without success, he resorts to humming one note at a time. It’s the same gruff and, according to various critics, polarizing tone that has defined his voice since he was young. Still, he is able to carry a tune pretty well in spite of it, and in this moment it was his voice that was yielding him more results than the piano. Besides, he’s always heard melodies before he hears chord progressions and he wonder why he didn’t start that way to begin with, especially since he was working alone.

As he hums he pictures Russel consulting with Noodle and 2D about him, and he considers what, if any repercussions will result. If this was indeed the beginning of the end, and the four stanzas written haphazardly across a page are what would be the final bit of weight needed to snap the tenuous string connecting him to his band, he imagines that he could learn to accept that. He’s always felt a connection to all of his songs but this one, which had come to him in an empty alleyway in the early morning hours, feels personal in a different way. They could vote him out his band; he would not go without a fight, but if in the worst case scenario they were successful, he would at least have this song to take with him.

He’s straining to hit a particularly high note when he hears shuffling behind him.

“That doesn’t sound too bad, Murdoc.” He stiffens at the sound of 2D’s voice. After taking a moment to regain his composure, he glances over his shoulder to see the singer leaning casually against the doorway. “You didn’t have to stop.”

“So you’re stopping by after all, even after all that,” Murdoc remarks casually, like 2D didn’t just walk in on him attempting to belt a note far out of his range. “And without knocking as usual.”

“I never said I wasn’t going to help.”

“Yeah, you didn’t really say anything.”

2D pretends not to have heard that. “I think I can hear what you’re trying to do..So if you want to know what I think -”

“I assumed you’d be spending your time with Russel and Noodle in one of your secret pow wows trying to figure out what to do about me,” Murdoc interrupts him. “So the answer is no, I don’t.”

“Accompaniment,” 2D says. “The melody’s gotten a lot nice since last time, but the chords aren’t entirely there, y’know, to get an idea of it’s full potential.” Slowly he begins to inch towards the piano, clasping and unclasping his hands. When he was close enough to be within arms reach, he asks, “I’ve got some ideas about that. I could uh, well, I could give it a go. I’ll tell the rest of them it was my idea...If you don’t mind…I also really, really like this piano.”

“You’re really going to put that much effort into kicking me out of the band, _my_ band, for good? 2D, how could you?” Murdoc widens his eyes in an attempt to convey the most exaggerated expression of hurt and betrayal that he can. However, when he sees that the singer is taking him completely seriously he clarifies his intentions with as genuine a smile as he can muster, “Really, 2D? You’re falling for that? I’m just pulling your leg. It sounds like all that’s going to happen is another group meeting, for now at least. And you know me, I live day by day.”

2D laughs nervously and Murdoc marvels at how easily he can mess with him.

“Yeah, okay,” 2D says. He stays where he is for a few more seconds before announcing, “So, um, I’m going to sit now.”

“Right, right. Of course.” Murdoc chuckles and scoots over.

2D wastes no time shifting his concentration back to the song. “From what I heard, it sounds like what you have could be a ballad, so what if I just took it down a little...a little like this,” he remarks as he begins to tentatively pick out a few different chords.

Murdoc closes his eyes as he listens. “Mmm, yeah. That’s nice, 2D.”

Somehow, he’s playing the same progression as Murdoc was trying to recall earlier, but whatever key he’s chosen gives the song a fuller and more emotive sound.

“Yeah?” There’s a smidgen of hope in the 2D’s voice. “So, uh, anyhow, I was listening to you for a bit before I walked in…”

That explained it.

“That’s not creepy at all.”

“I’m just telling you because I think we should add the vocal now. I think I’ve got it down but if I’m not sure so...do you mind going over it again? Then I’ll come in but I don’t want to sing it wrong.”

So Murdoc begins humming the tune again, softly at first but as he gets used to 2D listening, quiet and non judgemental, he feels bold enough to add in the words and project his voice. Moments later when 2D’s voice floats into his ear and he notices his heart start beating a little bit faster. It’s a change from their usual process of Murdoc picking out a tune and ordering 2D to sing it, a different level of closeness. 

2D’s immersed in the song now, eyes closed as he plays, tilting his his ear towards the piano keys and as they approach the refrain 2D gradually sings louder and louder before sliding smoothly into his falsetto at the end. Murdoc strains at this part, and after a particularly sharp note, 2D cracks one eye open to glance at him knowingly and chuckles, leaving him flustered. The feeling goes away quickly, though, because for the first time since the song’s inception, Murdoc hears life being breathed into his lyrics. 2D’s skill in articulating a range of emotions through his voice hasn’t changed since the first time Murdoc heard him sing in 1998. Eventually, he drops out of the song entirely and just so he can listen.

“...And then we could take it back to the verse again.” 2D says after he finished, resting his hands in his lap contentedly. “Do you think that sounded alright?”

“It sounds brilliant,” Murdoc replies, slack-jawed. He isn’t one to compliment 2D, or anyone really, very often but 2D’s uncanny ability to identify exactly what a song might need to arrive at its full potential has never ceased to catch him off guard. “How..How did you get it to sound like that?”

“Couldn’t have done it without you starting us off like that.”

“Oh yeah, right, that’s why it was so funny when I botched the refrain bit up.” There’s a playfulness in Murdoc’s voice now, and this time, he can see that 2D is aware of it too when the singer snickers in response.

“No, no, I’m serious,” he says. “And, well, I had some time to think about it in the waiting room today too. Thought I’d write a few of my thoughts down about it. You saw those right?”

“I don’t know how I could have missed it. I could barely even tell _I_ had written anything there. Didn’t bother reading it yet since it looks like you wrote an entire novel and then some.”

“There was a lot I wanted to get down before I forgot,” 2D replies. “There’s a lot that I get out of your writing, Murdoc. I get lots thoughts, feelings, everything.” He pauses, gaze fixed on the piano keys in front of him. “I um, also wrote about it a little bit in the journal entries from my appointment...and I was thinking if you wanted to take a look at those...”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. Of course. Just as he was beginning to appreciate their current dynamic 2D had to bring up his missed appointment again.

“Christ. So this is what this is about? I should have known.”

“Where were you today, Murdoc?” 2D asks flatly.

“Where do you think? Recovering after a long night of practicing my ‘coping skills.’”Murdoc hold up his hands to make quoting gestures. “Just like she said to do, and I did a damn good job of it.” He’s deliberately making himself unreachable and he knows it.

“That was homework from two months ago.”

“Yeah, well it’s not like you do anything different any other day of the week.”

2D doesn’t respond to this, so Murdoc continues, “What else do we have to talk about that we haven’t talked about as a group, or one on one? And are you forgetting the times I did go? How I cried that one time?”

“You were crying because you were blackout drunk that day and kept trying to hug me, telling me not to leave you and then when I pushed you away and told you to stay in your seat you broke down. I didn’t know what you were talking about.”

Murdoc blinks. He barely remembers that day at all but what he does remember does not match up with how 2D is remembering it in any way. The way 2D puts it almost makes it sound embarrassing.

“Exactly. I was opening up. Raw and unfiltered. That probably gave your therapist a lot to work with that day.”

“Actually, she sent us home after five minutes because you can’t do therapy when your drunk.”

“Whatever. Pick up where Russ left off, I don’t care,” Murdoc says, eyeing his flask. 

“Russ is just trying to understand you. I think we all are...in our own ways. I’m don’t mean…” he trails off and they’re stuck in an uncomfortable silence. Eventually, 2D turns back to the piano. “So, uh, about this song you started…how about we talk about that. Where did it come from? I got a lot of out it but I’m curious to hear from you since you’re, well, the writer and all that.”

It’s a change in topic Murdoc welcomes. “It came to me a few nights ago while I was in some alleyway. I think I had just...y’know, I had to take a break from it all, had a little too much to drink that night.”  
  
“So you were puking,” 2D says. 

“But anyways, I was all alone in that alley and I looked up at the sky. It was that time where it’s still dark but you can start to get the tiniest glimpse of light coming up and then...I don’t know. Benders send my thoughts all over the place so I can’t ever say where it all comes from, just that words pop into my head and I put them together.”

2D nods. “I think I understand. You were there, and you were looking up, and you noticed the sky, how it was in between being the night and the morning. It’s confusing because you feel like you’re stuck between two different existences, like you’re watching the world go by but you’re not entirely part of that world. You could be, but you’re not sure what to choose. And it’s lonely because you’re the only one who can figure it out but it’s also comforting because you feel hopeful that you’re going to figure it out.”

Murdoc scratches his head. “Uhhh, yeah. Okay. I’m not entirely sure what you’re on about but...that sounds right I guess.”

In reality, what 2D said didn’t matter. He had captured the feeling vocally, and that was what was important. Murdoc’s lyrics were, on many levels, an extension of himself, his thoughts, his story. They came out of him in a chaotic assortment of thoughts and letters and somehow after everything that had happened, 2D remained a reliable and effective translator and they were still able to work together seamlessly. Murdoc’s mind drifts back to the first time 2D sang his lyrics. It was the first time he had ever felt like someone out might actually be able to understand him. Years later, he’s relieved to know that hadn’t changed.

“That’s why I lowered it a half step when,” 2D explains. “Because it would be easier for me to go up an octave, and give it the full range since the lyrics have got the full range of emotions. They’re all jumbled together and confused, but they all come across in their own way. That’s how I read it.” He points to the the far left corner of the notebook page. “I wrote about it all there.”

“Yeah, which you would need a bloody microscope to read.” It isn’t a lie. Murdoc would have to get out his reading glasses - which he despises wearing - to read the manifold lines of squished words. “But that doesn’t matter. It’s sounding better with every play through.”

2D smiles. “Yeah, it doe, doesn’t it? I guess...I guess we could start adding the bridge then. But before we do, um...about the drive home today..l, I never-”

Murdoc turns to face his bed, a scathing glare in his face. It’s his phone. “Again?!”

Whoever it was certainly had a stubborn streak to them, almost enough for Murdoc to admire if they hadn’t just interrupted a conversation he was having about a song he was growing progressively more connected to.

“Are you going to answer it?” 2D asks.

“No. That number’s been calling me for days and can’t even be arsed to hack my Twitter or send a televised announcement or at the very least send a text message. They can fuck off.”

“Well they might stop calling you if you answer the phone,” 2D persists.

“Or they might call _more_ ,” Murdoc counters.

“But it seems like they really want to get in touch with you.”

“They only left their first voicemail today. And this is after three days. Can’t be that important.”

“If you keep ignoring them they might start calling every hour. Or if it’s so annoying then why don’t you just block the number?”

Murdoc lets out a frustrated noise and reaches for his phone. “Fine! They get one minute tops.” He continues to grumble to himself as he presses down on the green button. “You’ve got one minute to explain who you are and what the fuck you want.”

“Well, if it isn’t Nerdoc finally answering his phone.”

For a moment he stops breathing in disbelief and fear as he realizes who is on the other end.

_Hannibal._

The voice hits Murdoc with the same sick feeling he had earlier in the day as he feels the weight of old memories he’s long suppressed and nearly forgotten come down on him in the form a mental avalanche of sorts. He can feel his body starting to freeze up again just like when he was young, just like in his dreams. Thankfully, he is able to remember that 2D is still in the room waiting picking out simple tunes on the piano as he waits patiently for him to finish his call. But Murdoc no longer knows when he’s going to be finished now, and he takes the opportunity to flee his room before it gets too bad, leaving the singer alone at the piano without any explanation.

“How the hell did you get my number this time? How did you get through to me?” He demands once he’s in the hallways and safely out of earshot. “I’ve already told all our managers to tell you to fuck off so how is it that we’re talking?”

His relationship with his brother was never as bad as it was with his father but the truth was that Murdoc still wasn’t entirely sure who he was. Hannibal had be in an out of juvenile court, various  inpatient residential treatment programs for adolescents and, once he was an adult, prison for the most of Murdoc’s childhood and adult life. When he was home, he got his kicks out of pulling various “pranks” on him that ranged in severity from dipping in his hand in warm water while he slept to stealing his saving for alcohol. So when Murdoc finally did leave, he cut him off too.

“You really think you could ever get rid of me for good? My bunkmate in here’s got a stash of burners and he was kind enough to let me to use ‘em, and my old mate from juvie is good with those, uh computer codes that they use to hack into social media. I’ve got your number, I’ve can get any celebrity’s number I want and I can get a new number for myself at the snap of my fingers so you’ll never truly know which number to block. This one doesn’t have texting but I’m not choosy. I did finally get the time to leave a voicemail. Did you give it a listen?”

Murdoc doesn’t care. He cut his family off for a reason, in part because they were even more unhinged than he could ever be. All he wants now is for the conversation to end so he could return to his real life. Slowly, he inches his finger towards the end call button.

“You aren’t thinking of hanging up are you? Because I have some news you might want to hear and I wanted to be the one to tell you.”

“Yeah and what would that be? What could I possibly want from you?”

“It’s about our old man.”

The mention of his father causes his pulse to quicken. “Yeah?” His voice sounds uncharacteristically tepid. “What about him?”

“The miserable bastard kicked the bucket just a few days ago.”

As a boy, Murdoc had spent a lot of time fantasizing about what it would feel like on the day he heard those words. At the time he had looked forward to feelings of euphoria and relief. He had expected, for the first time in a long time genuine happiness or at the very least a content apathy. Instead, his legs are suddenly feeling shaky and his balance unsteady, so much so that he’s forced to lean against the wall to keep himself steady. He feels sick.

“Yeah, so?” He responds, a slight tremble in his voice. “And why are you telling me this? I don’t care. He’s been dead to me since I left.”

“He left a will.”

Now the story was getting odd. Murdoc sighs in exasperation.

From the other end of the line Hannibal snickers. “Weren’t expecting that now were you?”

“You’re either lying for some demented reason or telling me something I don’t give a shit about. I’m hanging up.”

“Really? Feeling that bold today, huh? Is it because I’m all the way across the pond? You always were a cowardly little shit.”

His brother’s tone is threatening enough for Murdoc to feel like he was back in that house again. Internally, he berates himself for allowing a disembodied voice from a past he left behind hold so much power over him. It had been decades, yet at the same time nothing had changed. He was still the same and he was furious at himself for it. Still, he’s unable to will himself to move so all he can do was listen.

“That’s what I thought,” his brother remarks. “So where were we? Right, why am I telling you? So here’s what you missed. They found him out behind the neighborhood pub, really out of it. They got him to the hospital but he just got worse from there, something about a stroke and pneumonia, I don’t know. Somehow the hospital tracked me down and told me what was happening, said he was going on about us and something about a will where we’re mentioned. I couldn’t do anything about it then since I’m banged up in here but then I remembered my little brother…”

“And you’re just going to believe him? It sounds like he went completely mental,” Murdoc replies in as even a tone he that he can muster.

“It’s not just that. He was also about to be evicted. So that’s a whole bunch of shit that needs to be cleared out in the next thirty days or less or it gets tossed. There’s stuff I need in there. There’s stuff _you_ need in there. You left your entire room behind when you took off.”

Murdoc has his eyes closed now, trying to remember other things, pleasant things. He thinks of his vacation with 2D in Jamaica, the day of their first album release, their first Grammy, anything to balance out his horror at what he is beginning to realize his brother was asking of him.

“So..you’re asking me to come back...”

 _Home._ He resists referring to it that way because it simply wasn’t by any standard definition. It was more like some sort of twisted training ground that turned him into the person he was today..

“Yeah, and? You’re bloody fucking rich it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“No.” There. He said it.

“No? I’m asking for a favor here as your brother. Or are we that easy to forget?”

Murdoc wishes.

“No,” he says again, gripping the phone tightly as he adds, “Wish I could be the one to gut the place myself, frankly.”

“Oh yeah? So you can set aside everything for that rock star lifestyle of yours but you don’t do shit for your family.”

This last accusation is enough to propel him back into action. He can barely believe his brother is serious.

“Yeah? And you can go fuck yourself,” he says, this time hitting ‘end call’ without a moment’s hesitation.

And with that, he slides down the wall into a sitting position and breaths a shaky sigh of relief. He’s still sweaty and jittery, but at least he can focus on recovering. _Breathe in, breathe out, quick shallow breaths,_ he reminds himself again.

There is a lot of history he associates with his childhood home. He had spent nearly thirty years of his life in and out of that hell hole, trying to leave any way he could. For awhile it was failed attempt after failed attempt in the form of unsuccessful bands, evictions and dead end jobs. And with every failure Murdoc was left with nowhere to go but home. It wasn’t until he met 2D that he began to see a sliver of hope that leaving was possible. Without 2D there would have been no Russel and without Russel and 2D Murdoc would never have had the idea to place a random ad in the paper for a guitarist. If Murdoc hadn’t clung so tightly to 2D in those early years he was sure that he would still be in wasting away in that house. Or maybe he’d be dead.

“Nasty telemarketer, huh?” 2D has poked his head around the corner of his bedroom door, concern in his voice. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

In his current haze, it only make Murdoc more irritated and tense. He should have never listened to 2D. He should have never answered the phone. If he had just kept ignoring it like he had planned he would have never had to know, and if he never had to know he wouldn’t be a feeling so internally conflicted and pathetic.

“Oh shut up. Don’t you have a song to be fixing?” 

The singer winces at the harshness of his voice. “Are...Is everything alright?” He stammers.

“What does it look like? Answering that call was probably the worst decision of my life. So thank you, 2D for the suggestion.”

Now 2D is looking just as confused as Murdoc feels inside. As he begins to retreat back into the room to wait, Murdoc stops him. “You got any Xanax on you?”

Murdoc doesn’t have to ask directly for the singer to understand and it isn’t long before he’s crouched beside him, fumbling around in his pocket. When he pulls his hand out, it’s filled with 2mg tablets. Murdoc grabs two out of his hand and swallows them dry.

“I, uh, I’m sorry, Murdoc,” 2D says softly. “If there’s...if there’s anything you want to talk about, I’m…” He shifts awkwardly. “I’m here.”  It’s an olive branch that Murdoc knows he probably doesn’t deserve.

“After what your minuscule brain, if we could even call it that, told me to do last time why would I ever want to talk to you?”

For a moment, 2D glares at him. It’s short-lived, but not short enough for Murdoc not to notice. “I wrote a melody for the bridge,” he says, stone-faced. “It’s on the last page. I left it on the stand.”Then, without further comment, he leaves and Murdoc is alone.

Murdoc sits with the fact that his father is dead for what feels like hours, uncomfortable with the difficulty he is having processing his reaction. His conversation with his brother had only confirmed what he had been unwilling to acknowledge for the great part of his adult life - that the same pathetic hope for some sort of reassurance from his immediate family still lingered inside of him. He hated them, but somehow the belief - a belief he had yet to disprove - that they had always hated him too carried with it an almost physical ache that felt like a punch in the gut.

All he has now is a decision.

According to his brother, his father had left him something, something that he could go to claim should he desire. The thought fills him with anger and confusion, but also a hope that he wishes he could ignore. If he were to go, he would have to leave promptly, which would understandably draw suspicion about where he was going and why, which would then place his role in his band in even greater jeopardy when he would inevitably avoid telling them anything. Going back carries a risk that Murdoc can’t predict and outcome to, yet the payoff could life-changing. At the same time, he doesn’t discount the possibility that everything his brother just told him was part of an elaborate joke.

So perhaps the best decision was to stay where he was, where there actually _was_ some stability.

Murdoc frowns at this. Stability of not, the thought doesn’t do anything to quell the restlessness that has been building up in him, even before the phone call. Staying put would only mean more of the same; more useless therapy appointments that he would skip at any chance he could, more aimless song-writing sessions with 2D that they weren’t even supposed to be having, and more scrutiny from everyone in the house. Then there were his dreams and his thoughts that hung over him like a low-hanging mist. His life with the band right now was predictable, but but tenuously so. It been slowly dawning on him, too, that he still wasn’t satisfied. And if he was being honest with himself, at the rate he was going there was no telling how much longer the band, _his_ band, would want anything to do with him. Murdoc stops himself there.

“Oh, fuck it,” he mutters to himself. Deep down inside, he has a sense of what he needs to do. The real question was, could he bring himself to do it?

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A decision is made.

**_Crawley, 1998_ **

_Rachel Pot is a kind and portly women with an unassuming and warm demeanor. She reminds Murdoc of the typical, cookie cutter depiction of mothers on the family friendly TV sitcoms that are so popular these days, only real. He’s never known anyone he would consider a mother-figure in his life nor has he ever given it much thought, but with the way she greets him at the door with a pleasant smile on her face and invites him in the lingering thought of what his own may have been like floats to the top of his mind._

_The inside of 2D’s homes is even more predictable still. It’s a modest home with quaint furnishings and family pictures decorate the shelves and tables. The fulsome smell of home cooked stew, presumably for dinner later in the evening - permeates the air. It’s so painfully normal, boring even. As Murdoc’s stomach growls as a reminder of just how little he had eaten that day, he also can’t help but notice how foreign this home, this normal, boring home, feels to him. Alien, he thinks. He feels like an alien visiting some sort of alternate dimension, like he saw in one of 2D’s low budget horror movies._

_He can’t help but wonder whether 2D’s mother notices it too but when he thinks about he realizes there’s no way she could. She’s been surprisingly tolerant him hanging around with her son the past few days either out of ignorance or trust or both. As a whole, the family’s approval of his relationship with their son makes him question their judgement and intelligence. Who in their right mind would allow the person who permanently injured their loved one while trying to steal from them back into their home, let alone recruit said injured family member into a band? He’s grateful for the opportunity, of course, but it’s strange for him to be so trusted._

_“I’d offer you dinner but I don’t think it’s going to be finished in time,” she says as she tends to the stove. “Stu should be home any minute now. I don’t know what’s keeping him.”_

_Murdoc leans awkwardly against the kitchen counter on the opposite side of the room. “It’s not a problem. Remind me again where exactly he’s coming from?”_ _  
_

_“Stu volunteers to teach piano to some of the children who can’t regular afford lessons at his primary school on the weekends; started when he was sixteen and really took to it. The little ones love him.”_

_Murdoc steals a quick glance at the clock. Apparently, arriving fifteen minutes after their agreed meeting time still wasn’t late enough for 2D to actually be ready._

_“But then again, Stu has always had a good heart. He’s always loved helping the needy,” Rachel continues. “I think it’s made the two of you a good fit for each other.”_

_Murdoc is just about ask what exactly she means by that when he’s interrupted by the back door opening. He’s relieved to see the familiar flash of blue hair. “It’s about time,” he mutters under his breath.”_

_“Oh, well, speak of the devil, here he is now,” 2D’s mother exclaims._

_“Sorry about that. Joe’s mum wanted me to stay and work with him a little longer because he’s got his big recital coming up.” 2D turns to Murdoc. “I didn’t keep you waiting too long, did I?”_

_“Eh. I’ve waited longer,” he replies with a shrug._

_“Where are you two planning on practicing today?” his mother asks._

_The questions catches both of them off guard._

_“Oh, uh, I thought we would work out back in the shed like last time,” 2D says._

_“Your father’s got a lot of work to do with the upcoming fair and he’s going to be using the shed for the next couple of weeks.” His mother doesn’t even look up from the stove. “So unfortunately, here isn’t going to be available for a bit. I’d offer you the basement but we’re having some renovations done and I’d rather not disrupt their set up in any way.”_

_“I thought dad wasn’t starting his work until next week.”_  
_  
Outside of the one time he saw him in the courtroom during his trial, Murdoc has never spoken to 2D’s father but the sudden monopoly on the shed he seems to have laid claim to makes Murdoc’s impression of him nosedive._

_“He told me wanted to get started earlier this year than he did last year so we have time for a quick holiday before the fair starts. Sorry I didn’t get the news to you earlier.”_

_“So we’ll have to practice somewhere else…” 2D looks to Murdoc. He’s taken aback at the look of genuine guilt on his face. “We have all our equipment sent up here,” 2D says to his mother. “Can’t dad wait a week?”_

_He’s going off a conversation they had during one of their early practices where Murdoc had gone to great lengths to emphasize how inspired he felt in the space, how easily the ideas came to him and how much he believed in 2D’s talent. He was even prepared to go add in a false sob story about how his father was a hoarder and that he had no practice space. The goal was to divert attention away from him and where he came from and keep all the focus on the music and its creation - specifically at 2D’s house._

_Fortunately, the flattery was enough and 2D, despite his frequent tardiness, became very committed to following their schedule and “not letting Murdoc down.”_

_“I wouldn’t have had you come all this way if I had known,” 2D continues. “Sorry.”_

_Knowing he can’t fully express his frustration, Murdoc just sighs in mild annoyance. Internally, he runs through the options. He doesn’t have the money to rent them a space. The one place his previous band used was technically still available, but he also had yet to officially quit that band either. Otherwise, he had always practiced with his bands at another bandmate’s home. Now that his only other bandmate was 2D, he realized how few resources he himself really had._

_“What about Murdoc’s house?” 2D’s mother suggests._

_Murdoc twitches at the suggestion. Anywhere but there._

_“Oh yeah?” 2D asks. “Would...would that be alright?”_

_House. His house. It was either start there or delay his master plan to become a famous musician until he could save the money to find them somewhere else or work at the mercy of whatever the availability of 2D’s house was at the moment._

_Murdoc hesitates, the thought of allowing anyone anywhere near his home makes him uneasy but of all the people he’s worked with so far, 2D has been not only the most promising from a talent perspective, but also the kindest and most trusting, foolishly trusting even, but it’s enough to make him begin to entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, he could trust him back. It’s the first time, he realizes, that he’s felt like he’s working with somebody rather than constantly feeling like he has to convince them or prove his worth to them and he can’t just give that up now._

_“We...can try that,” he finally says._

_They were going to his home._

_Home_.

Murdoc pushes the memory out of his head with a frustrated groan. He doesn’t like to remember that version of himself if he can help it yet lately it’s that period of his life, where he had been so close to finally leaving yet didn’t know it, that resurfaces in his mind like clockwork. Ever since the phone call with his brother- exactly two days ago and counting - he’s found himself caught in episodes where it almost feels like he’s actually reliving the moment and loses track of where he actually is or how much time has passed. He had blocked the thought of that day in 2D’s home for years yet there it was, resurfacing, and he didn’t like it one bit.

This singer in question is sitting at the table in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, distracted by the games on the back of box, unaware of Murdoc and his internal turmoil stirring on the couch just a few feet away. They haven’t had any prolonged interactions since their last songwriting session, though Murdoc’s caught glimpses of 2D peering into his room while he thinks he’s sleeping.

“Looking to go on vacation or something without us, Muds?” Noodle’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. Somehow, she was able to lean onto the arm of the sofa next to his head without him noticing.

“Huh?” He’s reminded quickly of the laptop in his lap where he was browsing through flights out of Detroit Metropolitan Airport to Manchester. Immediately, he slams it shut. “Oh that? No. It’s just...well..for an old friend from school who was...thinking of...coming to visit…Such a shitshow though. You can’t even get a direct flight.”

He doesn't expect any of them to believe him and they don’t. Noodle just giggles and Russel, who’s been cooking some omelettes at the stove, remarks, “I don’t even want to know. Just leave the rest of us out it, please. I’m not trying to outrun multiple assassination attempts like last time.” Even 2D looks over at him, eyebrow raised.

Murdoc rolls his eyes and hopes the scrutiny will be short lived. Thankfully, Noodle changes the topic without any prompting.

“I heard you and 2D are working on a song.”

2D looks up from the cereal box an over to Murdoc as if he’s looking any sort of hint that might tell him what the bassist want him to say. Eventually he says, “Yeah, we are.”

“What he means to say is _I’m_ working on the song. 2D helps sometimes,” Murdoc says. “But before you start huffing and puffing it’s nothing I intend to release or anything and 2D doesn’t even have to help. He just wants to for whatever reason.”

“Because it’s a nice song and I think it’s been good for Murdoc to get some of his thoughts out,” 2D says.

Murdoc shoots him an annoyed look. “Oh, so _now_ you want to defend it?”

“I’m only saying it because it’s what I think. You might have known that had you come out of your room at all for the last two days.”

2D wasn’t entirely wrong. Murdoc _had_ been holed up in his room. He hadn’t even had the motivation or energy to leave the house to go to the bar. Instead, he had quickly been making his way through his stash in his room, as well as “borrowing” beers from the communal refrigerator. When he wasn’t in a fitful, alcohol induced sleep, he was nursing a hangover or some other inexplicable ache in his body, or he was drunk. But his father was dead and now he was being forced to process something he didn’t know how to, and, if he confused emotions were any indication, he didn’t _want_ to know how to.

“As if you didn’t do the same thing last Halloween when AMC played that zombie movie marathon,” he grumbles back. His head hurts.

“It was a solid marathon.” 2D shakes his head. “But that’s not the point. The point is that i just said something nice about your song and now you’re getting mad.”

They’re exchange is interrupted by Noodle’s laughter. “You two are funny. If you ever finish, I’d love to hear it.”

“Uh uh. Don’t encourage him,” Russel cuts in. “This is what I was talking to you about the other day that I think we need to revisit as a group. He’s taking all this time out of his day to write songs with 2D - something  we as a band decided not to do- but can’t get his ass up and out the door to make his therapy appointment with 2D.” He pause to flip one of the omelettes onto a plate. “By the way, did you want any eggs, Muds?”

“Really? You talk about me like I’m not even here and then you ask me about eggs?” Murdoc is incredulous.

“It isn’t that hard. It’s like D said - we haven’t been seeing much of you lately.”

“Well surprise, I’m here now.” His alarm had made sure of that. “And to answer your question, no.” He hasn’t had much of an appetite these days anyways.

“Whatever you say, man. But this is your last chance until dinner. I don’t think we’re going to have a lot of time for lunch today.”

“Oh yeah, and about that. Explain this to me. It we’re supposed to be following this rule of keeping a low profile and healing and whatnot, why does this interview with Russ’s friend get a pass? I’m not even releasing my song but this documentary is set be finished when? In the next few months?”

“I committed to this project while we were still on tour,” Russel says as he sets a plate of omelettes on the table. “And Dan’s been an acquaintance since we met in high school with a lot of good things to say. He’s been wanting to film a documentary about the Brooklyn music scene for ages and I want to help him out. This is about what he wants to say, not me.”

“If that’s the case then why are the rest of us going? Why am I even awake?”

“He’ll have questions for us individually, too,” Noodle say, nudging him playfully on the shoulder. “You’ll have plenty of time to talk about yourself.” She then makes her way over to the table with the rest of the band.

Murdoc nestles himself into the couch further and opens his laptop again. The tab with the airport is still up, and he scans the prices. A round trip would be a little over a thousand dollars. He would also have to pay for a rental car and hotel. It was complicated. _Only if you actually go_ , he reiterates to himself. The easy solution is to stay home.

However, staying home hadn’t given him any peace of mind thus far. Murdoc always considered himself to have a tolerance for his unhealthy lifestyle but even he wasn’t sure he could take another week of how he was living. Additionally, his brother continued to barrage him with phone calls. Even after Murdoc blocked the previous number, he was calling him back again from somewhere else in no time. With little else going on during the day, he had no choice but to notice and subsequently be reminded of his predicament at all hours of the day. It was maddening enough to drive him to actually listen to his alarm this morning and get up when he was supposed to. Going to the interview could help him feel normal again, he hopes, even if it was only a few hours and even if he didn’t think it was fair that the rest of the band could set up projects but he couldn’t.

“We’re leaving in a half an hour,” Russel announces. Murdoc knows the announcement is only really directed at him. “And I’m trying to be on time today, so if you’re not ready you’ll have to find another way to get there.”

Again, Murdoc rolls his eyes. As if they would ever leave 2D or Noodle. Though if he had any sense, he hopes would know better than to leave Murdoc.

Sliding off the couch, he stalks back upstairs with his laptop. He’s not sure what to expect from this interview but if past interviews with the four of them were any predictor, he knew he to expect significant bouts of long-winded palaver and tangentially related speeches about music. He would need all the distraction he could carry. From his room, he grabs his flask, a handful of painkillers and, though he’s been purposefully avoiding it, his phone.

He’s back downstairs again in no time and smirks as he watches the rest of them scramble to get ready. While he’s waiting and while no one is looking, he checks his notifications. He counts seven missed calls since yesterday and four voicemail messages. He wants to know what they say but he also doesn’t want to hear his brother’s voice at the moment so he mutes the volume and presses play so he can read the transcripts instead.

The first two are exactly what he expected - his brother ranting at him and threatening him. _So that’s how it’s going to be then. The silent treatment_ , one reads. _You think I don’t have eyes and ears on the outside that would be happy to ruin your happy little rich life, you stupid fucker? You think just because you’re out of the country I can’t find you? I see how you act on TV trying to make the whole world think you’re completely out of your mind because it’s funny but you don’t know shit. If you don’t get your pathetic, sorry existence back here in the next few days I’ll show you what real crazy looks like. No one will recognize you after that. Then again, it's been so long they probably wouldn't recognize you're ugly face as it is anyways_. The second one is more of the same. He deletes those right away. The third is his brother again, only this time he’s telling him that he’s giving his number to the hospital for follow up and that he “better believe him now.” He deletes it. Sure enough, once Murdoc gets to the fourth message, he sees that it’s from a doctor at Harplands Hospital calling with “information regarding his father,” asking him to call back at his earliest convenience. This one makes his stomach turn but he decides to save the number into his address book. Just in case.

He pulls two painkillers out of his pocket, he pops them into his mouth. Already he knows his headaches will be terrible today.

* * *

The interview is scheduled to take place downtown in one of Detroit’s many abandoned buildings. According to Russel, this was because they’re going for the whole “gritty and authentic city vibe.” Murdoc can feel the minute enthusiasm he had already waning.

“There better be an open bar in there,” he remarks from the backseat as Noodle pulls into the parking lot. “You lot might be doing this for free but I don’t work that way.”

“And how exactly would you expect them to do that?” Russel asks.

“Beats me. I’m not the one hosting this gathering. That’s on them.” 

“There’s a liquor store just around the corner from here.” Noodle, the only proficient multi-tasker of the group, says as she scrolls through Google maps with one hand and  parks the car with the other. “If you’re that desperate you can stop there.”

“Hmm. Not bad.”

He waits behind as they walk towards the building, hand tracing the outline of the phone in his pocket. He doesn’t feel like interacting with anyone today, he realizes as his stomach rumbles.

“Hey, Murdoc.” He looks ups to see 2D not too far ahead of him, waiting. “About today at breakfast, I hope you know I wasn’t meaning to make fun of you or anything. I meant what I said about the song.” There’s concern in his voice that Murdoc notices but he also knows 2D uses the same tone when expressing his worry about which brand of juice to buy at the grocery store.

“Good to know.” Murdoc brushes him off.

“You really didn’t like that bridge I wrote did you?”

“I haven’t looked at that book since the last time. Believe it or not, this doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

2D looks mildly relieved at this but continues to ask him questions. “So it is something then?”

“You’re all acting like this is the first time I’ve spent a couple days out of commission,” Murdoc says.

“It’s not just that. Your room’s right above mine and I’ve barely even heard you moving around up there. And this didn’t start after a drinking binge, it started after we were writing together. Even now, you still look like you’re about to throw you guts up like you did that day. I figured it was a telemarketer but maybe it’s something else. Or are they just calling you a lot?”

Murdoc sighs and looks off in the direction of the direction of the liquor store. In his head his brother’s and the doctor’s messages repeat themselves and overlap until they’re nothing but a scattered mishmash of words and 2D’s voice fades away into a distant whisper. All he wants to do is lay down.

“So I guess what I’m saying is….I just want to make sure you’re alright.” 2D says.

Murdoc blinks, unsure of how long the singer has been speaking. “It’s fine, okay?” He finally answers. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We’re fine. And now we’re about to run late for this interview that I could care less about.”

His reply seems to be enough to convince 2D that he’s back to his old self, and the singer smiles as they begin to walk towards the building. 

“Do you think they’ll have some good questions for us?” He asks once they reach the doorway.

“If they know what’s good for them they will,” Murdoc replies.

But they don’t start with questions. Instead, they’re directed to the center of the room where various instruments are set up and asked to play them. The filmmakers explain that they’d like some footage of them playing together as a band, as well as individually,  which they plan to splice in between footage of their interview in the final cut.

“It doesn’t have to be your own song if you don’t want it to,” says the director, who Murdoc assumes is Dan, says. “We won’t be keeping the sound, we just want the movement.”

2D goes first. He launches excitedly into a piano cover of “Title” from the _It Follows_ soundtrack. “Because we’re in Detroit,” he explains afterwards even though nobody asked. “And _It Follows_ is in Detroit. Get it?  They took a really creative direction with the sound, y’know? Blending in the feel of the city with synths and some wicked klaxon. Whenever I make bloopy noise it sounds happy and maybe a little dorky, but they found a way to make bloopy noises sound scary. I nearly shit myself at the part when that tall, skinny guy with no eyes popped up behind her friend.”

Murdoc snorts. “Is that so? Do you nearly shit yourself every time you look in the mirror?”

2D looks at him, puzzled. “Huh?”

“Nevermind.”

Russel goes next and opts for some Latin jazz, a choice which he says is inspired by Ray Baretto. “One of Brooklyn’s finest,” he says.

Noodle joins in with him as he plays with some simple guitar riffs. “It’s important to remember the role jazz played in shaping the beginning of ‘rock and roll’ as we know it today. I’ve been auditing some music classes at a college in Michigan and jazz by far has been the most inspiring. Would Gorillaz exist without jazz?”

“The answer to that question is, yes, Gorillaz would have existed because I exist, and that’s the factor that actually matters.” Assuming that he’ll be expected to go next, Murdoc drags his feet as he makes his way over to the collection of bass guitars. He isn’t in the mood for this at all, he’s decided but better to get there and get it over with before anyone can start pestering him. He picks up a solid red one from its stand. “I’m guessing you want some cool poses from me now.”

The poses don’t come that easily, though, and neither does the playing. Instead, he’s focused on how much his stomach is aching and how sore his eyes are from previous sleepless nights, and how the camera light shining in his face isn’t helping. He thinks about his phone in his pocket and the tab he left open in his browser with all the flight times. He thinks of the voicemail from the doctor and whether or not he could bring himself to return the call. When he regains enough wherewithal to look up he’s met with expectant looks from everyone in the room. In the end, he plays a scale and half-heartedly throws up a devil horns hand gesture and moves to set the bass back on the stand.

“That’s it?” He hears someone from the crew say.

“Yes. And you best be grateful that you got that..” 

“Really, Murdoc?” It’s Russel.

“Did you not listen to a word I said earlier about working for free? Now, if I’m remembering correctly, we have some question to answer so can we get on with it? I have a liquor store to get to.”

An uneasy mood falls over the room after this. As they get their mics hooked up, Murdoc overhears a producer asking Russel if he thinks he’ll be okay to answer any questions or if they should reschedule for another day. Russel just shrugs and hand waves the away and Murdoc gets out his flask.

They seat them on a couch for the beginning of the interview. Murdoc squishes himself as far to the right side of the couch as he can with a bored look on his face. 2D sits down beside him, then Noodle and then Russel on the far left.

“Brooklyn is cited as the hometown of many internationally successful artists, many of whom have found new a creative ways to preserve their Brooklyn roots in their sound,” Russel’s friend narrates off camera. “Gorillaz drummer, Russel Hobbs, is one of those artists, having infused his musical perspective with the diverse perspectives of his three colleagues.” He then directs the cameraman to focus on him. “We sat down with Gorillaz to have a conversation about how they’ve managed to synthesize such a cornucopia of sounds together, as well as the inspirations behind their most recent album, _Humanz_.”

As Russel goes into more detail about the his musical influences, Murdoc focuses on finishing his vodka. He pulls out his phone as Noodle begins to reflect on the multi-generational effects of music, and how important artists are to artists of the younger generations. When he glances over to 2D, he sees the singer nodding and smiling vacantly.

“Your tour for _Humanz_ wrapped up earlier this year and many fans felt this album was a new direction for you.”

Noodle answers first this time. “We look at every album like a story of sorts, and we want every story to have it’s own unique narrative. With _Humanz_ part of the objective was to present multiple perspectives reacting to one momentous and life-changing event.”

“Part of the reason we chose to record the album in Detroit was in part because we wanted an opportunity to really get in touch with the energy of the American city, its rise and its fall,” Russel says. “There’s a rich music history in Detroit, one that many of our collaborators connected with at some point in the career. It really made the music flow organically. Having grown up in Brooklyn, some of the verses on this album really resonated with me.”

“I got to play around with a lot of different sound machines,” 2D muses. “It was fun.”

Murdoc sighs dramatically and the rest of the group turns to look at him.

“Is there something you’d like to add?”

“I don’t know why they’re all dressing it up in all that flowery language. The world’s going to shit and we wrote about it. Or well, _I_ wrote about it. I basically crafted the entire backbone of it while I was trapped in that dungeon. Oh, and for the record, bleeping out the President’s name was _not_ my idea I was-”

His phone rings and it brings his train of thought to a complete halt. He almost reaches to answer it out of instinct but stops himself when realizes it’s probably not a conversation he wants to have while being filmed. In fact, he doesn’t want to touch his phone at all, so he just lets it ring.

Russel clears his throat, clearly annoyed.

“Murdoc’s been getting a lots of nasty calls from telemarketers lately,” 2D says. “I think it’s because he keeps trying to fill out those online surveys they make you fill out when you want to illegally stream movies.”

Russel’s friend stares blankly for a moment before trying to get the interview back on topic. “That’s...cool. My parents love Deep Purple.”

“I made that version of it for him for his birthday the year our first album came out. He told me he hated it.”

“But...it’s his ringtone.”

“Christ, 2D, would you shut up?” Murdoc snaps. He didn’t actually hate it. It was probably the first time anyone had done anything even remotely thoughtful for him, despite how amusingly bad it was - and he made sure 2D knew how bad he thought it was. Still, It was special to him, in that way. At the present moment, all it was doing was notifying him that someone he didn’t want to talk to was trying to talk to him, but even that wasn’t enough for him to shut it off completely.

“Sorry about all this,” Russel says, motioning towards Murdoc’s side of the couch. Then, speaking directly to him, he says, “Maybe turn the phone off?” He turns back to his friend. “You can edit that out right?”

Murdoc glares at him, but it goes unnoticed as he and Noodle return to reflecting on the album’s themes. He doesn’t want to listen whatever message was left for him but still reaches a shaky hand into his pocket because his nerves are fast becoming overwhelming. As he unlocks the phone he sees that it’s from the hospital. He doesn’t even notice 2D leaning over his shoulder.

“Hospital?” the singer whispers, barely audible. No one in the room appears to have heard it. Murdoc has, however, and that was all that mattered.

“Would you mind your own fucking business?!” He shoves the phone back into his pocket, surprised at the amount of venom in his voice.

2D jerks away from him instinctively even though he hasn’t moved and the room goes silent.

“Murdoc,” Noodle finally says. “I understand this wasn’t something that you wanted to do today but please chill, maybe try one of those yoga positions I showed you the other day. The sooner we get through the questions, the sooner we can leave.”

He doesn’t like the way they’re all looking at him now. It takes him back to when he performed with his first band and how most the crowd either shook their heads at them or pretended that they weren’t there.

“Of course,” he says, glancing at 2D hoping that somehow whatever expression is on his face can convince him not to say anything more. “And I’m fine, love. Perfectly fine. Nothing to see here.”

2D looks mildly annoyed now. Murdoc imagines that if he were to comment it would be something like, _Well, you didn’t have to blow up like that_. But there’s worry there, too, but much to Murdoc’s relief he remains silent.

“Anyways, back to what we were talking about - _Humanz,_ right?” He asks in an attempt to play his outburst off. Inside, however, his can feel his heart rate rising and chest tightening. 2D didn’t know everything but he knew _something_. He feels like an idiot for getting his phone out in the first place but it’s too late, and all his anxiety about his messages, his father and the hospital come flooding back. Still, he tries to keep going. “It was the greatest release of 2017, saved the planet, probably ended about three wars, et cetera et cetera.” He pulls out his flask again and is upset to find only one gulp left after he tips it back for a drink.

“You know part of the reason I invited the rest of the band today was because I thought this topic was important to _you_ , and of interest to _you_ .” Russel wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “Anyhow, what we were talking about was the significance of the messages conveyed on _Humanz_ particularly to the current generation growing up today, which, to address your question, Dan, I believe is relevant to many kids growing up in the country today. And part of this is due in part to how we all brought a piece of our background to the album. Growing up in Brooklyn, many of my experiences mirrored some of the verses you hear on the album. During the recording process, I asked some friends from my high school in Brooklyn about who they felt was speaking up for the people and that guided a lot of my input to the group while we decided which collaborators to call back. In a way, my part in _Humanz_ was theirs as well.”

“Oh please.”

“‘Oh please’?” Russel says. “Okay, then, Muds. What do you want to talk about then?”

Nothing. He doesn’t want to talk about anything. He wants leave and go back to his room where he can bury himself in covers and think about whether to call the hospital or not for an indefinite period of time and hope 2D doesn’t say anything to the rest of the band. But he can’t say that so instead he says, “That’s not my job to figure out. I’m not the one asking the questions.” He turns his attention back to cameraman. “Do you lot have anything new to ask? Something other than this saccharine ‘inspire the people’ bullshit that we haven’t already talked about in every interview?”

“Right, silly me for expecting you to relate.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He can’t tell if Russel is being sarcastic or not.

The drummer answers his question for him. “I’m being serious. I feel like an idiot right now for actually thinking you had any sort of passion or thoughtfulness about this topic.”

“Hey, maybe we should take a break for now.” Noodle says as she places a hand on his shoulder.

However, Russel is too absorbed in his frustration to end it there. “Because what do we ever hear about your hometown and what you’ve done for them? Can you even remember? Do you even care?”

For as grumpy and sarcastic as he usually was, Murdoc had always thought of himself as skilled at sidestepping references about his personal life or addressing them in the vaguest way possible and then forgetting about it. If he was thinking more clearly perhaps he might have even connected his current behavior to their exchange and realized Russel’s questions weren’t meant to be malicious or accusatory, just said out of frustration and without knowledge of his brother or the phone call. But the impact of the questions hits him too hard and too close to home.

“Oh yeah? You want to go there? You know, why don’t we talk about how much a fucking phony you are.”

Noodle raises an eyebrow, 2D sinks down in his chair as if he wants the pillow to absorb him. Russel looks at him in amused disbelief. “Okay...What’re you talking about, Muds?”

“Now you sound like 2D. I’m talking about how the only reasons you’re sitting here on this couch talking about all this “power to the people” mumbo jumbo and how hip hop is part of your identity is fucking hilarious because you’re probably the least hip hop out of all of us sitting here on this couch. You were going to one of those snazzy, posh private school before you went to Brooklyn High School and you would have _never_ gone there if it weren’t for your own fucked up head attracting spirits or whatever. You’re kidding yourself if you think either you or your rich parents would have even entertained the thought of public school if you had the choice. And here you are droning on and on as if you know any sort of struggle outside of death. Fuck you! And you know what -

“Murdoc!” It’s Noodle this time, voice barely above a whisper. He isn’t used to her getting angry or snapping at him, so he stops.

Everyone is staring again and he doesn’t wait to find out what comes next. He leaves and makes sure to give the door a good slam as he goes.

No one comes to follow him, which stings at first but he soon comes to see as a benefit. Now at least he can spend as much as he wants at liquor store around the corner. He takes an Uber back to the house from there. As the car drives away he considers choosing a direction and walking away to wherever because he knows he doesn’t want to face whatever will await him when the rest of them get home. For all he knew, they were meeting about him right now. Did he deserve it? He guesses he probably does. Of course Russel knew about struggle.

Being at the home alone doesn’t bring him any peace, he finds, just all the thoughts he’s been carrying.   

To distract himself, he goes to the kitchen and pulls out some leftover pizza from a week ago, pacing as he nibbles at it. It’s nearly silent with the exception of the clack of his boots on the floor and his own shaky breathing. His mind wanders to outlining the next few hours. The rest of the group gets home, he’s summoned to the kitchen, he gets kicked out - that was one outcome. It could also be: the group gets home, he gets the silent treatment for a few days, _then_ he gets kicked out, or all of the above with an additional round of negative press for his blow up after it leaks to news outlets. _I’ll hole up in my room and never come out,_ he thinks, _I did it well enough on Plastic Beach and I just cleared out that entire liquor store so I’m stocked up for days I’ll just-_

He’s rudely interrupted by the corner of the kitchen table which he walks into at a much faster pace than he normally walks, and he nearly falls over as he attempts to regain his balance by grabbing one of the chairs.

With a frustrated yell he shoves the table right back. When it doesn’t flip over or even tilt, he settles for knocking over one of the other chairs instead.

It’s in that moment that he reaches a new level of clarity. He hates the house and he hates the life he’s living inside of it. That’s what it came down, how it had always been. The phone call was just the catalyst to it but he had been feeling this way since the tour ended, he just never wanted to admit it. And now he knows that so long as that message from Harplands hospital sits on his phone he’s never going be able to be himself, or at least, who his band knew him as. No interview or song could change that. He’s reminded again of his first memory in 2D’s home all those years ago. Technically, the house is his home, but it doesn’t feel right and he doesn’t feel right in it. Distant, out of place, _alien_.

He leaves the kitchen in disarray and his pizza abandoned on the table, heading in the direction of the stairs. He enters his room and opens his laptop. He’s pleased to see his browser still has the tab of flight times open from the morning. Minute later, he has his one-way flight from Detroit Metropolitan Airport to Manchester scheduled for early the next morning.

“Sayonara, suckers,” he mutters aloud as he submits the final confirmation of his purchase. There’s no one home to hear him, but the statement gives the moment a sense of satisfying finality, but he can’t dwell on it long.

Next was packing.

On pitfall of his room was that it lacked any sort of closet space. Years of moving from one obscure location to another had resulted in the loss of much of his furniture and all that he had now was one dresser which was mostly filled with old notebooks, ash trays and tour posters from earlier albums. The bulk of his clothes and stray personal belongings stayed under his bed in suitcases and garbage bags which he had never bothered to unpack. Usually, this made packing for tours easy but this trip was going to be less predictable.

As he pulls out suitcase after suitcase he runs through a variety of questions. How long would he be gone? How long did he _want_ to be gone? When he was ready to come back? Would he even have a place to come back to?

He decides to plan for a week and half but to also take along a few additional items that he doesn’t want to lose. He picks and chooses which clothes to take by systematically dumping every suitcase - some of which he realizes he hasn’t opened in years - and bags onto the floor and rummaging. Settling on a medium sized suitcase he had bought in Jamaica, he throws in a pile of shirts, some new pants he bought on the last tour, some jackets from the 90s. He’s making good time until he stumbles upon the first suitcase he ever owned. He had moved out with that suitcase, and, while he could never get rid of it, he also approaches it with caution. 

It’s been years since he’s opened it, since it’s been on his mind, so at first he’s hesitant to dig through it. He’s already on edge and agitated enough as it is, and the last thing he wants to do is throw himself into a bad state of mind _again_ and risk sabotaging his own plan should the rest of the band get home in the next hour. He soon realizes that in many ways, his current predicament is exactly the sort of scenario that his younger self had been preemptively planning for all those years ago whether he knew it at the time or not. This pushes him along to sift through the even older shirts, ripped pants and worn out shoes until he finds his old wallet.

Grasping it with his hand, he pauses to focus on his breathing and keeping it steady. There are photos in that wallet that he hasn’t wanted to look at in years and doesn’t want to look at now.

 _Not yet at least_ , he thinks. They’re difficult to look at, but they’re important, incredibly important, so leaving without them he decides, is not an option. When he feels ready he stores it in a back compartment in the suitcase and closes it, throwing a longing glance in the direction of his liquor store purchases. Perhaps a few drinks wouldn’t hurt.

The next few hours pass by in a blur for him. He remembers stumbling down the stairs and into 2D’s room for more anti-anxiety and pain medication that he knows he’ll be needing for the flight. After clumsily returning to the safety of his room, this is followed by, in a burst of drunken courage, a return call to the hospital.

“Heyyyoo” he says to the charge nurse. “It’s me, Murdoc Niccals, brilliant mastermind behind Gorillaz, I’m, uh, calling for the doc. He’s been calling and calling and I‘m pretty sure it’s ‘cause he wants t’tell me my dad’s dead and all that. HA! So I wanted to call him back.”

“Just one moment.”

He rocks back and forth on his heels as he waits, enjoying how it seems to make the room tilt even more than it already is.

“Hello, this is Dr. Matthews.”

“I’m good, really just spiffy. Happy to be alive, y’know? Unlike some people.” He laughs again. “If you know what I mean.”

“I understand you’ve already heard the news. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Oh yeah. You see, my dear brother - I presume you’ve spoken to him - won’t stop harassing me to fly back across the pond and deal with all this. Keeps, uh, telling me how he’s gonna hunt me down and ruin my life. But that’s nothing new. Didja know that? I hate flying.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m sorry if this is any extra trouble but because you’re the only other next of kin who we’ve been able to locate who is also not incarcerated -”

“And d’you know what else he’s been telling me? That I’ve got t’go clean out the house, get the will, figure out all this dead person stuff and making it all so complicated. He’s dead! When people die you’re supposed to forget about them! You can’t even get a direct flight from where I am. God bless America. You see, you’d like t’think it’d get simpler but noooo. Nothing can just be simple, not life, not running a band that hates you, and apparently not burying your fucking miserable father either.”

“Yes, there are certain procedure that you’ll need to-”

“I’ll be there.” Murdoc says, burping afterwards.

“Oh..oh you will?” The doctor sounds surprised at this.

“I’ll be there alright...” He squints at the time and date on his phone. It’s almost five in the evening. “Next day or so, f’sure. Got a flight to fly to a place I hate...flight fly fly flight...rolls of the tongue huh? Haha…” He isn’t sure where he’s going with his tangent so he just hangs up.

He spends the next hour or so on his bed in a daze, trying and sometimes failing to resist any more drinking as he waits for his current buzz to fade away.

It isn’t until around seven in the evening that he hears the door open and he catches bits and pieces of their conversation.

“He’s seemed upset about something lately.” It’s Noodle’s voice. “What he did wasn’t okay but what if it’s something serious?”

“Then he needs to tell us.” Russel. “Or he needs to tell _someone_ , anyone. Look, he’s not in jail, no one is hunting him down, we’re not promoting anything and he’s linked up with mental health services. I don’t know what else we can do for him without his help. _He_ has to want it, and I don’t know if he does.”

“So we wait,” Noodle says. “When I was fourteen and I started remembering things, I closed myself off too.”

“But you didn’t lash out at anyone like this, and even if you had, you were fourteen. He’s over fifty now and he’s been acting this way for years. How long do we wait for him? Because I can only speak for myself but I’m getting tired of it. And I know you guys have thought it too.”

There’s a long pause after this, long enough for Murdoc to decide that he’s doesn’t want to hear anymore. Taking his phone with him, he goes back to his bed and buries himself under his many layers of blankets. He sets his alarm for two in the morning, and then he closes his eyes and waits.

* * *

He’s awake long before his alarm goes off. He doesn’t think he slept at all, or if he did, it wasn’t restorative in anyway. It’s left him feeling groggy and uncomfortably aware of what he’s about to do. It isn’t easy without the alcohol, and any time he’s tempted he reminds himself he’d have time for that later. Right now, he needs his balance to tiptoe down the steps with his suitcase and a relatively clear head to recognize his uber when it meets him at the house next door.

The living area is dark and empty when he gets downstairs. He sees that the table has been carefully recentered and the chair set upright. To his disappointment, his pizza is gone. His stomach rumbles in agreement. He looks over to the refrigerator. _Food_. The word flashes across his brain in bright, neon letters and for the first time that day, he notices how fatigued he’s feeling. Cursing to himself, he sneaks over to the counter and, as quietly as possible, opens a bag of bagels, pulling one out very, very slowly.

“There you are.”

He can’t stop himself from jumping in surprise. His bagels on the floor now, but it no longer on his mind as he wheels around, ready to sprint out the door, even fight if he has to. It doesn’t register that it’s 2D’s voice until he sees the singer standing there with a half full bowl of popcorn.

“You? What the hell are you doing here?” He whispers harshly.

“The same thing as you, I guess. You know I can’t sleep very well at night...been watching some movies, ate some popcorn. Umm…” He seems to be deciding whether or not to talk about the day at all. Finally he asks, “How...How are doing? Are you okay?”

Murdoc sighs. “The question on everyone’s mind.”

“It’s not some disease is it?” He’s talking about the hospital. “Like cancer or a stroke?”

“No!”

“Sorry.” 2D shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I didn’t tell anyone about it...it being...well, you know…”

Murdoc does know. “Good.”

“... But I almost did since Russel is a bit ticked off about everything. We’re going to have to reshoot some questions and it’ll cost some more money. Noodle’s been talking about having a meeting sometime soon about, um, everything.” As he speaks, his eyes drift from Murdoc to the front door.

It’s when his gaze falls upon the suitcase by the door that Murdoc begins to that familiar feeling of panic. “Listen, 2D...this isn’t anything any of you lot need to concerns yourselves with I’m just..I’m uh...”

“You’re leaving,” 2D states flatly, sounding tired. “Murdoc...you know, that isn’t going to solve anything. They’re mad and you were acting like a complete wanker back there but-”

“I know, I know. I heard them talking.”

“Yeah, but it’s not...they’re not.”

“It’s not just that. I mean, it definitely helped but...” Murdoc says, making a quick assessment of the room, a paranoid thought that they could be hiding in the shadows waiting to corner him crossing his mind. “But I’ve got this...this is just something I have to do...but it’s all completely, completely under control. You won’t even know I’m gone.”

“Are you going to come back?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I am.” Bending down to pick up his bagel doesn’t feel like it’s worth the effort so he grabs the entire bag instead and begins walking towards the door.

“How long will you be gone?” 2D follows him and stops once he reaches his suitcase.

“Depends.” He turns around so that they’re facing each other again.

What about our song?”

“It’s _my_ song. Christ. Do you ever stop? You should be looking at this like a bloody holiday. You can play that piano all you want now, and at any time of day.”

“You say that like the piano is the only thing I care about.” 2D says.

“You certainly come around trying to play it enough.”

2D looks at him with a sad look in his eyes before shifting the conversation’s focus. “I, uh, I was going to reschedule our next appointment with the therapist for sometime next week…”

“Therapy? Is this a bloody joke? Does it look like I care about therapy right now?” Murdoc is struggling not to raise his voice at this point. “Look, I’m on a tight schedule here and...and I’ve got a ride to catch, I can hardly keep anything straight right now.”

“Yeah, because you’re not okay.” 2D’s assessment is short and sure of itself.

“No…” Murdoc says, more to himself than 2D. He’s at the point where he doesn’t see the point in trying to contest it. “No, I’m not.”

2D’s face softens at his response. Murdoc takes in the way he’s looking at him now, and thinks that if the singer had the option hear his inner thoughts and worries he would take it, anything for another piece of the puzzle he was making so difficult for him to solve. “We...we can go and get Russel and Noodle maybe we could, uh, put our heads together and find a way to help…”

“No!” Murdoc’s response is immediate and firm. “You won’t breathe a word of this to either of them or I promise you I’ll-”

“Or you’ll what?” 2D stares him down as he speaks. “You’re leaving in the middle of the night and you won’t tell me anything and you want me to trust you. That’s stupid, Murdoc.” He pauses. “How do I know whether or not this is the last time we’ll see you? How do I know you’re not going off to get yourself...I don’t know...killed or something?”

“I don’t know.” He has to go, and he has to go now. It should be easy with the door right there in front of him but his feet feel stuck to the floor. He doesn’t say anything else.

2D is silent for a while, too. “It said hospital on your phone. Which hospital?” He finally asks.

Outside, Murdoc catches a glimpse of headlights as his ride pulls past their house and up to their neighbor’s, just as he had directed it to.

“What does it matter which hospital? What makes you think-”

“I just want to know what hospital and I won’t say anything,” 2D persists.

It’s an odd request and an even odder promise, one that he isn’t sure he can trust the singer to follow but he doesn’t have the time to thoroughly assess his loyalty. At the very least, he’ll get a long head start.

“Fuck, okay...fine. You win.” He hesitates. “....Harplands. Harplands hospital. And I’ll have you know it wasn’t about me. That’s all you’re getting.” And with that, before he can think to prolong their interaction any long, he grabs his bag and charges through the door. He doesn’t look back.

Once he reaches his ride, unsure if it’s out of fear or regret, he turns around to look at the house one final time. No other lights are on other than the kitchen, just as it was when he left. He breathes a sigh of relief. Through the window, he can see 2D is still there as well, leaning on couch with the bowl resting loosely in his lap, his silhouette outlined by the dim lighting. He’s very still, Murdoc notices, like he’s in some sort of trance  or deep in thought. And he stays that way even as the car pulls away. Murdoc keeps him in his sight for as long as he can until the house fades away, and he wonders to himself what it will be waiting for him when he returns.

* * *

 

His driver leaves him at the wrong end of the airport, something that would have bothered him if he didn’t hate flying as much as he already did. What’s worse about this time is the uncertainty of whether he should expect Russel to pull up in a van beside him or 2D to flag him down as he’s going to security or Noodle to suddenly appear beside him. He doesn’t want to be convinced to turn back right now, though he imagines it wouldn’t be a difficult feat. He uses the extra walking time to eat part of a bagel and devise as many potential escape routes as possible, should he need them. However, just like when he left the interview, no one comes.

The airport is relatively empty when he arrives and his flight is even emptier, for which he is thankful. It’s less pressure to keep up his calm front and more time to drink his anxiety away.

He downs a few shots of vodka before losing his eyes, trying desperately to ignore the rattling of the aircraft as it lifts itself off the ground. A memory of a time when 2D pulled up the NASA website on his phone before they boarded crosses his mind and he tries to hold it there. The page was called the “Dynamics of Flight,” and he had read it aloud to him as the plane pulled onto the runway and over the pilot’s announcements, much to other passengers’ annoyance. 2D didn’t seem to notice, though, or if he did, he didn’t care and droned on about the Laws of Motion and how they apply to “forces of flight.” At the time, Murdoc hadn’t really appreciated it, especially when the singer continued reading ever after the plane was at a safe elevation but on his own, flying alone for the first time in years, he finds himself missing the sound his voice, any voice really.

He lands in the exact state he had planned to be in- groggy, and with little memory of the past nine hours or how he managed to board the correct flight during his layover in Chicago.

After he gets through customs, he stalls for another few hours in the airport because he decides that he needs some time to sober up again before he can drive, or that’s what he tells himself. Even as the hours pass, he continues to put it off and put if off until he realizes how late it’s getting.

“Hey, aren’t you that Murdoc bloke from that band Gorillaz?” the woman at the Hertz stations asks him. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Hell if I know.” His reply is blunt.

“What brings you to Manchester all on your own? Holiday? You writing a solo album?”

Murdoc bristles at this. He had been so distracted for duration of his trip so far that he had failed to consider that the general public could potentially recognize him. It’s like someone just pulled the curtains open before a performance before he’s ready to perform.

“Look, I’m here to rent a car, not to spill on top secret Gorillaz news.”

“Oh right, of course. That’ll be three hundred pounds.”

Murdoc pulls a pile of cash out of his pocket and places it on the counter. “You can keep the-”

“Could I have your autograph?” The worker blurts out.

He sighs, tired. “Fine.” Pulling a bill from the pile, he scribbles his name down, grabs the rental keys and leaves.

It’s dark when he’s leaves the airport in the modest black Picanto they rent him, and it takes him an hour more before he reads the sign “Welcome to the City of Stoke-on-Trent” through bleary eyes.

It’s difficult to for him to process the moment he drives through city, past the large industrial pottery kilns and red brick homes with their identical, gray chimneys. It’s been years since he's seen them in person, years that he had intended to continue adding to until about a week ago. Now here he was driving into the one place he had gone out of his way to avoid outside of the occasional mention in interviews.

He pulls over and parks right in the middle of an unknown neighborhood and gets out of the car. It doesn't feel right to stay in his car for this unexpected and disorienting reunion between himself and his hometown. For now the hospital could wait.

He doesn’t feel fully present as he walks, as if his body is on an autopilot of sorts. It directs his hand to extend so that his fingers brush against the bricks of the homes he passes. With his other hand, he digs around in his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.

“Oi, mate, you got a light?”

Stopping and glancing to his right, sees two men loitering by the cars near the house he is passing. He hadn’t even noticed them and he waits a few seconds to see if they recognize him at all before pulling out his lighter and handing it to them.

“You from around here?” The other asks.

Murdoc isn’t sure how to respond to that question. Instead, he watches each of them light their cigarettes before finally saying, “I guess you could say that.” Then he waits for them to give him his light back and keeps walking, lighting his own cigarette as he goes.

“What a barmy fucker,” he hears one of the men mutter to the other as a he walks away. They snicker.

“He’s going to walk right into traffic, that one, lookit how spacey he looks,” the other says and they laugh harder.

Now much farther down the street, Murdoc doesn’t bother saying anything back or turn around but simply flips them off and continues walking. Once he reaches the end of the bock, he stops to take a long look around, at the homes, the cars, how the chimneys look against the sky, everything. Then he takes a drag off of his cigarette, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth for the first time in what's felt like years.

He had arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the flashbacks may seem sort of random but they'll make more sense later, I promise
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented and left kudos on the last chapter. As always, thoughts and feedback would mean the world to me.
> 
> Happy labor day weekend!


	3. Chapter 3

When he wakes up the first thing he sees are the clouds. _Nimbostratus_ , he hears 2D’s voice saying his head. _What kind of cloud you see depends on what the, uh, atmospheric condition is in the sky, sort of like how when you tune an instrument you can get a completely different note depending on how you tune it. Effect and then cause. No wait, it’s actually cause and effect, isn’t it?_ Frustrated, he rubs his eyes. Even with an entire ocean between them and then some, he can’t get him to leave him alone. It was just as well he left them all behind if being cramped in the house was making it that easy for him to talk to himself in their voices.

He’s in the back seat of his rental car, which is where he gathers he fell asleep after wandering aimlessly around the city in a stupor for what had to have been hours though he can’t remember the exact amount of time. As he sits up he wonders whether or not yesterday's journey was all a long, convoluted dream and he’s actually still in Detroit in the back seat of Russel’s truck about to be chided for sleeping in too late for some obligation he forgot about (again). But when he looks at the front seat, the drummer isn’t there and it isn’t the familiar Detroit skyline that he sees when he looks around but the same red brick he touched his hand against last night. He’s alone. It’s a sobering realization.

Pushing aside the apprehensive feeling in his stomach as he tries and fails to keep from thinking about his band, he feels around for his jacket pocket for his phone. There were important things he needed to know like the time and the weather, not the long list of notifications and texts that he quickly swipes past.

It isn’t the first time he’s left them he reassures himself. In fact, he had left them after every album without issue. They had even left him in return. What was the worry? Murdoc Niccals didn’t worry. _But it’s the first time you’ve left them without telling them, the first time you’ve left and been the only one to leave, the first time you’ve left after promising you would stay._

“Oh, shut up,” he tells himself as he give the side of his head a half-hearted smack and glares at a passerby who gives him a strange look as she walks past. The time on his phone tells him it’s the early afternoon; enough time to get to the hospital and wherever else that would lead him. He could finish this up in three days tops and go straight back to Detroit and it would all be okay and he would forget about it.

He takes in a deep breath. Now he just had to get through this hospital visit.

* * *

Murdoc can count on his hand the number of times he had been to a hospital and of those incidents, only one that he cared to remember. The last time he had to stayed at hospital in Stoke had been an experience he had worked doggedly to block out of his brain, and as he walks through the automatic doors and into the glaring, artificial light of the foyer, he’s filled with the same familiar sense of dread.

“You sign in over there.” The receptionist points to a sheet of paper with a long list of names on it without bothering to look up at him. “I’m also going to need and ID.”

He hands his license over to him wordlessly and watches as the name tag with all his information on it prints out. Grabbing it, he moves to put it in his pocket. He ought to be recognizable enough.

“You’re going to need to wear that,” the receptionist says. “What floor are you going to?”

“I don’t know. The morgue floor?”

“That would be the bereavement office. Have you collected the death certificate?”

“The death certificate?”

“If you’re here to register the death, you’ll need to collect the death certificate from the hospital staff first.”

Of course it had to be complicated. “Look, I’m just here to tell them to donate the body to science or cremate it or whatever is the easiest thing, get the will and leave. I was told to talk to a doctor Roberts.”

The receptionist looks at him like he’s stupid. “Do you know which unit he’s working on? Actually, no, never mind. I’ll call around. You can sit over there in the waiting area.”

Too tired to share what’s really on his mind, Murdoc meanders over to a the waiting area, which consists only of a few chairs and some plants. He considers asking the receptionist how long it would be, but decides it would be wisest to avoid any other interactions and the risk of adding yet another outburst to his resume. He’s left with not choice but bear the boredom and anxiety indefinitely.

He spends the first hour challenging himself to think of ways to mashup Gorillaz songs with the monotonous, easy ambient music coming from the radio station playing in the background. Once a saxophone cover of the latest Chainsmokers song comes on, he realizes this is an impossible feat and gives up. He settles for selfies next and snaps a picture of himself looking bored. On impulse, he uploads it to the band’s Twitter page, typing out a caption commenting on how uneventful the beaches are in Spain. This way, if anyone in the band was trying to find him, they would hopefully go to the wrong country.

He’s just about to start pulling apart the potted plant on the table in front of him when he sees a doctor who he assumes to be doctor Roberts walking towards him.

“Are you Murdoc Niccals?” He asks mid-stride.

“That’s me.” He pats the plants casually and sits back in his chair. “And I’m assuming you’re…”

The doctor motions towards the elevator. “Come with me.” And with that he’s turned around and walking briskly in the other direction.

Murdoc has to run to catch up with him. “It’s about time,” he mutters under his breath.

“Sorry about the mix up,” the doctor says to him once they’re in the elevator. “We almost had you going to the wrong location.”

“You got that right.”

“Since doctor Matthews was your father’s primary physician in the final few weeks, he felt it was better for him to deliver the news. We’re just housing his body in the interim since you didn’t provided a lot of detail to them over at Harplands as to when you would be arriving.”

As the elevator doors open, Murdoc rubs an itch on his nose with his sleeve. “Uh huh. Great...but can I be blunt with you? Exactly how long is this going to take?”

“Well, like doctor Matthews was telling you on the phone, there’s a certain protocol. Your brother facilitated as much as he could over the phone but we’re going to need someone to register the death in person. You’re supposed to that within five days of the death which..” He looks at the clock. “...leaves you with a little under a day to get that done.”

Exasperated, Murdoc sighs. “And how do I do that?”

“You’ll need to bring along his ID, insurance number, any paperwork detailing benefits he may have been receiving…”

“I haven’t talked to him in over twenty years now and frankly, I haven’t got a the slightest idea or interest in any of that. Donate the body to science or throw it away for all I care.”

“Not doing so will delay any funeral plans.”

“I’m not making any funeral plans.”

The doctor looks at him with an inquisitive expression.

Murdoc continues, “Surely there’s a way I can sign this all over to the hospital or someone else to handle.”

“Well, it can be done by someone present at the time of death.”

“Good. So let’s do that.” He had been in the hospital for over an hour now. That was long enough.

“Do you want to know anything about the cause of death? Or would you like to see the body.”

Those questions give him pause. It would be nice, he thinks, to give him one last look of satisfaction; to show him that in his own way that he was still on the earth, thriving while he was dead. His father had never wanted him happy so what better way to part with him than with a smile? “You’re a doctor, you’re all about scales, right?” he asks. “On a scale of one to ten, how painful do you think the death was for him.”

“I couldn’t tell you that. What I can tell you is that he was admitted alone and then he died alone, and that for me, regardless of pain, is a terribly lonely way to go.”

For a brief moment, Murdoc thinks he want to say yes to get one last look at the empty, shell of a body that kept him so powerless as a child. He goes so far as to draw in a breath to say so. Then he stops. There was no point to it, it was done and over with. It had been done and over with starting twenty years ago and ever though circumstances had led him to being so close in vicinity to his father, he wasn’t going to let him win and he wasn’t going to dignify him with a goodbye. He died alone and he could stay alone for all he cared. “There was something about a will,” he finally says. “My brother wouldn’t shut up about  it...said we were mentioned in it? That’s really all I’m here for, not to see some body or set up a funeral.” _He better not have been lying._

The doctor nods. “He did, but in relation to your brother.”

 _Of course_.

“So what does that mean I have to do? Did he bring it with him? Or is it somewhere in the city at the bottom of some lawyer’s office?” He would be surprised if his father had been that thorough.

“We don’t have it here. Unfortunately he only spoke about it a few times. He said it was in his home but didn’t specify where.”

“So I have to find it. Great.”

“Then I would call the probate registry. If you’re brother is the beneficiary and he’s in prison then you may need to apply to for a grant of representation to manage some of the immediate needs like his bank account and home.”

“Christ. I only packed for a week.” Who did his brother think he was? Leave it to the bloody legal system to make a person dying complicated.

“We can connect you with a lawyer from here if you’re interested…”

Murdoc shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary. I’m just going to have to figure this out myself.” The lights and the strong odor of disinfectant were beginning to get to him. “For now, I’m done here.” He turns and begins to walk towards the stairwell by the elevators.

“Oh. Okay. Would you at least like his death certificate?” The doctor asks after him.

He doesn’t care. “I don’t know,” he says as he opens the door to the stairs. “Can’t you mail it? Just use his address. I don’t care.” He doesn’t wait for the doctor’s response, he just leaves.

It’s still overcast and grey as ever when he leaves the hospital, just as grey as it got when he would leave the pubs in the early morning hours. It leaves him with the same feelings of discontent and sadness, familiar, yet unpleasant.

He would have to go to his father’s house next, but at the moment, he wants to take his time. It had been awhile since he had been back and he hadn’t had the chance to see the city during the day. In a lazy attempt to shield his face, he pulls up the collar of his jacket as far as it will go. It’s not so often that he aims to discourage attention from himself, but given the circumstances and despite how silly he feels, he doesn’t want his location found out as he wanders.

It’s Sunday so downtown is relatively quiet. The only place he finds open is a generic fast food restaurant where he decides to stop for food. To his annoyance, they don’t have any curry dishes so he’s forced to  settle for some kabobs. When it’s ready, he takes a seat by the window and stares outside as he eats.

Apparently, his brother hadn’t been lying about how little the locals would remember him. Robbie Williams he was not. Perhaps his “disguise” wouldn’t be needed after all.

He sighs and watches the outside. Aside from a few people here and there, the streets are empty. And there’s so much grey; a grey sky, grey streets, sidewalks, streetlights. The locals look resigned as they pass, going about their day in a stony, mechanical fashion. Even when he happens to notice a group that’s joking or more lively, he can still pick up on the aura of discontent brimming beneath their ostensibly cheerful demeanors. It’s the same feeling that ate away at him so many years ago. He doesn’t hate Stoke, couldn’t hate Stoke, but he has always seen it as a place that was meant to be left. The deserted streets and homes makes him believe he wasn’t the only one to have thought this. But the misery he felt growing up was also what ultimately helped him conceive his first lyrics, and, as he notices his reflection, world weary and restless,  in the window, he realizes just how futile his efforts to leave it behind were. It was always and always had been a part of him.

Suddenly he doesn’t feel so hungry anymore. Pushing his plate aside, he decides to check the weather for the rest of the week. Surely, it wouldn’t be cloudy the entire time. In the process he’s greeted by even more notifications. This time, he can’t help but look at them. He sees an assortment of unknown numbers which he figures are all his brother. And then he see 2D’s name, and 2D’s name again, and again, and again.

 _Maybe you should see what he wants. Talk to someone. He already knows half the story_. The thought is fleeting, though, and Murdoc ignores the feeling of longing it brings. He needs to stay focused and he needs to do this alone. He especially needed to go to the house alone. It had been difficult enough when everything was beginning and he isn’t sure he could survive another wave of the confused emotions he felt from the way 2D had looked at him all those years ago.

He draws in a sharp breath and gets up. That was enough. It was time to do what he had come to do, and he leaves the restaurant with an increased sense of resolve. He would go to the house, find the will and sign whatever he needed to sign to get someone else to take care of everything. Then he would be back in a week just as he had planned and everything would go back to normal.

* * *

_Stoke-On-Trent 1998_

_Deep in concentration, Murdoc doesn’t reply._

_“Don’t you keep a spare key anywhere? Or do you know if you’re dad will be home soon? He could let us in.”_

_The questions come from a point of reference of which he has little experience, a life he’s never known. He can’t find the words to explain to 2D that he’s never been allowed to have a key to his own house and that discovering new and creative ways to get in was the norm. “Oh don’t be stupid. I’ve got it all under control,” is his reply._

_It takes him a few more turns before he’s successful and the door opens. It reveals a living room nearly devoid of furniture save for an old sofa in the corner and a glimpse of a dirty kitchen. This was the hardest part. In his head, he searches for a witty comment or a cool and casual remark to play it all off as if his home environment was even remotely normal. But there’s nothing he can say so he walks, mouth set in a firm line, towards the staircase. It was the end goal that was important. If they were lucky, they might finish a song today and maybe he could get him to focus more on what they wrote rather than where they wrote it._

_2D is silent as well, and when Murdoc glances back, he sees him peering around the living room, expression blank and unreadable._

_“You’ll want to watch out for the fourth step. Er, the floorboard isn’t secure and if you step the wrong way your foot will go through,” he says as he climbs the stairs. “Otherwise, you’ll want to follow me. My room is at the end of the hallway.”_

_Ever faithful, 2D follows him. “Your stairs have, uh, got a nice railing,” is his only comment on the journey. It alleviates a tiny amount of Murdoc’s pent up anxiety over the visit. Still, as tiny as it is, it’s a welcome relief. The relief only grows once they reach his room and he’s met with the familiar scene of his cluttered shelves, nearly buried under records and books, unmade bed and floor covered in dirty clothes. They had made it without any surprises or interruption._

_“This is your room, huh?” 2D gives the room a full, 360 degree turn. “Wicked.”_

_“Wicked is putting it lightly. You see this?” Murdoc points to the pentagram scratched onto his wall in black ink. “I summoned Lucifer himself with this and he materialized right here, in this room and the dark energy still lingers here today.”_

_2D sits on the bed. “Well, I don’t know about that. The bed’s pretty comfy.”_

_Murdoc hasn’t had anyone in his room since he was a teenager but despite his initial reservations, 2D’s visit has been going unusually well. He considers yelling at him for feeling comfortable enough to sit on his unmade bed like it was his own but he can’t bring himself to because he feels it too. It’s as if 2D’s been coming over for years, like an old friend who’s he’s known for years. Something about him just fits in with the grimy chaos of Murdoc’s room, with Murdoc life._

_“Well don’t get too comfortable. We’ve got a lot of work to do,” he replies. Then he pulls a chair from his desk and leaning it under the doorknob of his bedroom door, effectively jamming it._

_2D looks at him curiously. “What’d you do that for?”_

_“Like I said, we’ve got a lot of work to do,” Murdoc says as he twists the doorknob and pulls to test how the chair holds. “Listen, you don’t leave this room unless I give the go ahead no matter what you hear or see.” If only he was allowed to have a lock on his door._

_Still, this doesn’t seem to phase 2D in the way he anticipated it would. He reaches down to where his keyboard case rests at his feet and begins to unzip it. “What if I have to got to the bathroom?” he asks._

_“We’ll cross the bridge when we get there.”_

_This answer doesn’t seem to satisfy him. Murdoc can tell by the way he furrows his brow, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, he pulls out his keyboard and keyboard stand and asks, “Okay, well what about an outlet? Have you got any of those around here?”_

_Things springs him into action. “Of course I do. We aren’t some bloody squatters.” They were close, but they weren’t there yet. “We pay the bills.” They weren’t always on time, but the point stood. “There’s one right beside you.” He walks over to where the other is sitting and crouches down on the floor, shoving aside a stack of records and uncovering the outlet by his bed. “There. Now get moving, we haven’t got all day.”_

_“The Clash?”_

_Murdoc looks up to see 2D squinting at the records strewn out on the floor, a smile beginning to form on his face._

_“Kate Bush, The Who. Nice,” he says. “We’ve got more music in common than I thought.” He moves aside another record case with his foot and chuckles. “Deep Purple?”_

_“Yeah? What about it?”_

_“Didn’t have you labeled as that sort of classic rock fan, y’know, like the kind of classic rock fan that likes all the bands that everyone and their dad likes.”_

_“So what are you saying? I’m not cool enough or something?”_

_2D shakes his head. “No, that’s not what I was thinking at all. I was expecting you to be some big music snob what with how you’re always talking about music today. Now I don’t think that’s true and I like that.”_

_Murdoc blinks. He was liked._

_“What about going for a sound like that? Like The Clash, kinda punk, punchy guitar riffs, like this?” He attempts to demonstrate through air guitar. “What else have you go around here?” he says, jumping up from the bed. He wanders over to his desk and begins to flip through one of his open notebooks._

_“Oh I see how this is. Make yourself at home, Faceache. Go ahead. Just go through all my drawers, learn my deepest, darkest secrets, read all my very personal writing. I’ll just be here sitting by the keyboard you still haven’t set up.” The sarcasm in his voice is apparent but he doesn’t make any other effort to stop him. There’s something about the sincere excitement and interest in 2D’s eyes as he turns the pages. Murdoc can see that he’s looking at a page where he had only written out one tab and covered the rest of the page with sloppy doodles of ravens. Yet 2D is looking over it like he’s just unearthed a hidden stash of unreleased zombie movies. Murdoc can’t figure out what could be so fascinating about it to him but decides that it doesn’t make. He likes the feeling that it gives him._

_“You’ve got a lot of drawings in here,” 2D says. “You ever thought of making, I don’t know, larger versions of them? Like, uh, that street art thing they’re all doing now. Like Banksy and the rest of them.” He turns the page and a bunch of papers that must have been sandwiched between the pages are scattered across the desk. He looks back at Murdoc, surprise and curiosity in his eyes as if he’s just discovered something truly meaningful and intimate about him. Murdoc freezes._

* * *

The house hadn’t changed much since the last time he was there. Other than the eviction notice nailed to the front of the door, it looks just as rundown and uninhabitable as it always had. The other homes on the street have a similar look. Smiling grimly, Murdoc remembers an argument he had with his father over him moving out where his father had tried to convince that there was opportunity for him in town and that he was just too stupid to see it, unlike everybody else. However, the neighborhood looks emptier than when he first left it.

The door is unlocked and this almost make him laugh out loud. Of course during the one time when he didn’t need the shelter, when he didn’t even want to be there, it would be so easy.

The inside of the house is dusty and the pungent odor reaches his nostrils in a sharp wave. Murdoc can only imagine the number of infestations lurking in the walls and floorboards as he walks through the rooms. The first floor is devoid of furniture with the exception of a few chairs here and there, just as he remembers, and inside of the refrigerator is just as bare with the exception of a cheap bottle of vodka. It brings up an uneasy feeling as distant memories of their home around dinner time begin to resurface. Despite never holding a real job for any notable length of time, his father always managed to come home in the evening like clockwork, drunk and belligerent.

Hands shaking, he reaches for the bottle and he hates himself for needing something that belonged to his father to help him. He hates himself for needing help, really. As he gulps the drink down with urgency, he also decides that he hates himself for being stupid enough to charge back into his childhood home without a second thought, that this was something he could just speed through and leave. Slamming the now empty bottle on the table, he tries to breath.

Despite his best efforts, it’s not enough. The house’s changeless appearance is working against him in the worst possible way and he can’t get his body to believe that it’s the year 2021 and he’s free to come and go as he pleases. Once again, the same familiar tightening stirs in his chest. When he tries to walk out of the room but his feet won’t listen. It isn’t until the sharp clang of a glass bottle shattering on the floor startles him back that they do.

He turns just in time to see the tip of a rat’s tail crawling through the cabinet. The sight is unpleasant enough as it is, but what is most upsetting is the harsh sound coupled with the sight of broken glass. It’s at that point that his mind becomes foggy outside of the singular thought that occupies so many of his dreams.

 _Leave, run, leave_.

And he does.

* * *

He wakes up the next morning in a hotel. He doesn’t know how he made it there, let alone how he conversed with the front desk clerk coherently enough to book a room, but he’s relieved that he did. The events of the previous day come back to him in waves of emotions rather than images and they deter him from making any attempt to get up.

 _What now?_ He thinks to himself. He had botched his first plan spectacularly and it’s left him more unsure of himself and his own mental fortitude than ever.

On the nightstand, his phone dings and he looks over at it, defeated. Then there was his band, Detroit and 2D. Maybe if he want back and groveled, maybe offered to make Noodle two cups of tea per day rather than one, he would be allowed back. He grabs it and, for once, opens his messages.

The most recent voicemail is from 2D. Burying himself further into the covers, he changes the setting to speaker phone presses play.

_Hey, Murdoc. It’s, uh, it’s 2D. Calling you again. Y’know, it would be nice if you answered your phone once in awhile. I’m, uh, a little lost here. Call me when you get this, okay?_

Murdoc squints at the date and time, perplexed. He sees it’s from late last night, and, as he scrolls through his messages he sees a lot of missed calls and text messages from the singer. Interspersed in between where unknown numbers and another from the hospital, both of which he expected but why 2D?

He plays the next one.

_Yeah, uh, Murdoc? It’s me. 2D. I’m just getting to the hotel now. I haven’t heard anything but I guess that means you’re alright. I don’t know why you’re not answering because the phone is ringing so I know it’s on. You’re probably mad I keep calling but I don’t know the area very well and I know you’re here. Uh, yeah. That’s all. Call me when you can. Or text. Either way. I’ll probably just be watching TV for the next couple hours._

He stops there, unwilling to listen to any more because he doesn’t know how he’s going to react if what he suspects 2D has done is indeed what 2D has done. Sure, he had his moments of spontaneity and impulsiveness but in general, he approached most decisions with as much thought as his tired brain could muster. Murdoc was supposed to be the one with the surprises, the one to flip the script, those types of decisions were meant to be _his_.

Which truth was scarier? That 2D had truly lost it this time? Or that 2D had put a significant amount of thought into this and somehow come to the conclusion that following Murdoc to the across the ocean to the UK was a reasonable course of action?

Slowly, cautiously, he opens the list of unread text messages only this time, he starts from the beginning. _Hi, Murdoc._ The first one reads. _I don’t want to surprise you but I’m just landing in Manchester now. I’ll give you a call when I can and explain everything._ The next one reads, _I reserved a hotel right around Harplands Hospital. The address is in the link. I can meet you there if you’d like._ And the next, _Where are you? I know you’re not in Spain but Noodle and Russel aren’t going to know that. I haven’t told them anything yet so don’t get upset. I’m still here. Let me know when you get this._

He puts the phone down after this, blinking in disbelief. There was only one conclusion to be drawn from this. 2D was crazy. He was crazy and now they were within fifteen minutes of each other.

Murdoc’s first inclination is to ignore him. Let him have a surprise solo vacation and leave it at that. He reconsiders when he remembers that the singer is technically the only other person who knows where he is. Begrudgingly, he calls him back and tries to ignore the quiver in his hand as he presses the phone icon to dial.

It doesn’t take long for 2D to pick up. “Murdoc!” Murdoc cringes at how cheerful he sounds. “I was starting to think I wasn’t going to hear from you at all or that you were somewhere across the globe.Are you okay? I’m-”

“Shut it. If anyone’s going to ask the questions it’s going to be me,” he snaps. “What the hell are you doing here? What could have possibly possessed you to…” he trails off. “We’ve known each other how long now? And you’re still thinking ‘oh yeah, I’ll follow Murdoc, that always ends well’? You weren’t invited and as hard as the might be to believe that was completely intentional on my part.”

For awhile, there’s silence on the other end. And finally, “So...you’re actually here? You didn’t lie about the hospital.” He sounds surprised.

“No, I didn't.” Is all Murdoc can sputter out. “And I’m okay. All of it’s okay. Okay? So you can go home now.”

Again, there’s a long pause before the reply. “No.”

“No?”

“That’s right, no. Noodle and Russel are, uh, pretty upset with you right now. Have you been looking  at the paper at all? Watching TV? They’re speculating that you’ve gone off to Spain writing your own solo album.”

Murdoc places a palm to his forehead. Right, the Twitter update. “That was just to throw you off my trail because I didn’t want anyone, most of all you, following me. You can’t possibly be saying they’re buying into the tabloids.”

“Well, what else are they supposed to think? We haven’t heard a word from you. I know better but you didn’t want me telling anyone.”

So he had kept his promise. “Right. So you thought you could just stalk halfway across the globe after everything I said, everything I _didn’t_ say, and it would be peaches.”

“They wanted to have a vote.” His tone is terse. “Between the interview, the tantrums and now this disappearing without telling any of us and all the rumors. It’s serious Murdoc.”

His stomach turns as he listens. It’s moving towards everything he feared.

“...But they can’t have a vote without me,” 2D says.

On the other end Murdoc nods in agreement. It was starting to make more sense to him yet it was also leaving him confused. “So...what did you tell them?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell them much of anything because I didn’t know how long I’d be.”

“You _what?!”_

“What do you mean ‘what’?”

“What do I mean?” Murdoc has to put a lot of effort into keeping the shrill panic out of his voice. “Do you have any idea what this, all of this, as it is right now, looks like to an outside observer?”

“Like I went on an unannounced vacation just like you. It’s nothing to write home about. I’ll follow up with them eventually.”

“Christ. They probably thinking all sorts of things, worrying. Knowing Russel he’ll get some sort of anarchist hacking group a friend of a friend knows on this.”

“You’re saying this like they’re not doing the same for you.”

“Because they’re _not_ . They don’t care what happens to me, they _do_ care what happens to you.”

2D doesn’t respond to this but Murdoc feels like if he listens hard enough, he could hear the wheels turning in his head. When the silence goes on long enough, he adds, “I mean, after all, they know I can take care of myself but you? You couldn’t even figure out how to open that can of beans even with a can opener that time we took Noodle camping for her 11th birthday.”

Still, there’s nothing. Murdoc begins to think he hung up until he hears rustling on the other end.

“So, uh, you got my messages right? Where are you now?”

Murdoc looks around the room. That was a good question. “Some hotel.”

“I’m getting a little hungry do you...want to get something to eat? Or, um, I guess I should’ve asked if you’re okay to meet up. I’m hungry and I haven’t really done anything all day. We don’t have to talk about anything. We can just, I don’t know, walk around.”

But why else would they meet? Now Murdoc is the one at a loss for words. At the same time, if telling 2D to fuck off like he truly wants to would result in the singer listening to him and going home. And then what? The he remembers the house, the will and everything else he’s had dealt with the previous day. Certainly 2D couldn’t make it any worse that it already was. “Fine,” he grunts.

He meets 2D in the hotel lobby later that evening. “So I guess ‘inconspicuous’ means nothing to you,” he says irritably, noticing his lack of hat or hood.

2D shrugs. “Didn’t really expect to have to go into hiding...didn’t really get much in the way of direction, y’know?” He taps his chin. “Wonder why that is.”

“Oh, really? What happened to ‘we don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to’?”

“We don’t,” he says. “But you don’t have to be such a wanker expecting me to know how to go about things based on information you haven’t told me.” His stomach growls audibly. “Anyways, what about dinner? It took you long enough to get over here.”

“I don’t know!” Murdoc sighs in exasperation. “You’re the one who wanted to eat.”

“Well you’re the one who’s a local.”

Maybe 2D _did_ have the capability to make things worse.

“What about a pub? There has to be a few of those around here, and you can drink.”

“Absolutely not. The last thing I want to do right now is go back to a fucking pub in Stoke-on-Trent.” Murdoc searches for another suggestion. “What about….Oh, hell. Pizza?”

They end up ordering carry out from Pizza Hut and eating it in the backseat of Murdoc’s rental car.

“This is...nice I guess,” 2D says.

Murdoc takes a large bite of crust. “What were you expecting? A three course meal?” he asks between mouthfuls.

“I dunno. I thought we’d sit down somewhere, maybe try one of your favorite restaurants from when you were a kid…”

He frowns as a large group of toppings slides off of his slice and onto the seat but doesn’t say anything more. Awkward silences between them, it seemed, were becoming a frequent pattern but he can’t quite break out of this one. Instead he stares at the cluster of soggy vegetables.

“You forgot napkins.” 2D looks from him to the vegetables and then back at him. “Are you going to eat those?” He smiles.

“Those? No. Knock yourself out.” He sets his piece back down in the box with a sigh and looks out the window..

2D gets through another two piece without comment. At his third, Murdoc notices quick glances of concern and curiosity. By the time he reaches his fourth, he comments, “Not very chatty today, are you?” He looks over to his abandoned slice of half eaten pizza. “Or hungry.”

There was no way to have a conversation with him without getting into why he was there, without the telling the truth which would then lead into the entire history behind the truth. Murdoc feels sick.

“...I’ll give you a fair warning. If you don’t grab something now I’m going to finish everything off. And it’ll be gone.” 2D adds in a small smirk, as if to invite Murdoc to respond with a witty quip or joke. Murdoc provides neither.

“Do whatever you want. I’m just sitting here because you wanted to get sometime to eat and get outside of your hotel room.”

“Oh. Okay then…” 2D’s disappointment is palpable. “So...uh, Murdoc, I’m really not trying to pry but-”

“May reiterate that you weren’t invited here in the first place? And it’s not anything someone like you could even comprehend...it’s...I don’t know.” Inside, his stomach turns even as he reassures himself that after tonight, he wouldn’t have to talk about it ever again. If he asked him to go home 2D would listen and that would be the end. Still, his nervousness lingers. 

2D eyes at the final slices of pizza. “So I’ll just finish these then.” He trying and failing to mask his feelings of dejection by steering the conversation back to the food, but Murdoc can still see it in his hunched over shoulders and downcast eyes. He alternates between looking out the window and watching 2D chew in silence before the words force themselves out.

“My dad’s dead.”

Immediately he stops chewing and looks up, visibly shocked. “What?”

“My dad.” He says it again, keeping his gaze directed towards the window. He’s staying as still as possible now. “The one who contributed the bare minimum to my existence. Him. He’s dead.”

“Murdoc…” 2D’s tone is so gentle. Murdoc can feel his throat tightening. “I’m...I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” He turns further towards the window. “I didn’t like him much anyways. Hated him, actually.”

“But you came back...I mean…” 2D amends the comment promptly. “I was just thinking out loud. You don’t have to, well, you know.”

“I didn’t want to come back. My brother wanted me to come back, wouldn’t shut up about it. He’s in jail now so he can’t do all of that idiotic death stuff they all want you to do. So that leaves me.”

“That’s nice of you.”

“It wasn’t to be nice. I don’t like him either. I cut them all off for a reason and I don’t mention them for a reason.” He can feel the other’s gaze on him, intense but nonthreatening. There’s no response but he  doesn’t expect one. The moment is reminiscent of the time he spent with the singer while he was in his coma. Murdoc would frequently find himself venting to his unresponsive form because it was the only way he could pour out his feelings to another person without the risk of them telling anyone or judging him. This time around, the scenario was significantly different because 2D is very much awake, but he isn’t saying much and that was all he needed. “Now I’m stuck with all of this paperwork that I don’t give a toss about, let alone know what the hell it’s talking about, the entire house, the will, maybe even the hospital bill. Surely you can use whatever neurons you have left in your brain to understand why I wouldn’t want any of this getting out. That’s one thing I’m good at - making things go away. I barely know what the fuck I’m doing but I can, I mean, I would have been able to make it go away all on my own but then you showed up and now here we are.” He exhales. There’s some relief in being able verbalize what is usually an internal monologue but he stays facing the window.

“Murdoc...”

He can hear it now. _Murdoc, why don’t we ring up the others? We can explain everything and they’d all be happy to help_. “And for the record, I’m still going to get rid of this on my own. I mean, you’re here now too but it ends here. None of this leaves this car.”

“Okay.” 2D doesn’t argues but he knows he doesn’t agree with him from the hesitancy in his voice. “How...how far have you gotten with everything?”

“I went to the hospital yesterday, wandered around town and started on the house which was as unkempt as you probably remember it.”

“It’s the same house then?”

“Yup.”

“Wow.” 2D sounds reflective. “It’s probably been how many year now….it was the late nineties then, so more than twenty years. You wager that one floorboard in the stairs is still wonky?” He chuckles at this Murdoc’s is pleased to hear this. His efforts to shield the singer from the dynamics in the home had been successful enough to make the singer look back on his time there in amusement.

“Knowing who was living there, I’d say that’s an obvious yes.”

“So you’ve got the entire place to clean out?”

“Yeah, well, finding the will is the first priority. It’s supposed to be in his room somewhere but…” He pauses. How was he supposed to explain why he didn’t make it to the stairs, let alone the rest of the house? He had been served a cold dose of reality yesterday and he was keenly aware of how little of that house he could tolerate. Every item in there carried a memory with it. He had difficulty with the kitchen, he didn’t know what would happen if he tried to enter a room.

“It’s just you doing all that?”

“It’s complicated,” He says with a handwave. He’d rather not talk about his brother right now.

“Do you...um - and only if you don’t mind - do you need any...help? It could be...you know what they say- it could be just like old times”

Murdoc’s first reaction is a firm no but then he thinks about it, how the work might go faster, how perhaps he could even make 2D do everything and not set one other foot in the house. “Well, you’re here and not showing any sign of going anywhere so why not. Have at it.” He turns away from the window and shuts the pizza box. It was time to call it a night.

2D perks up at this. “Really?”

“Yeah, really. But for Christ’s sake please get yourself a hat or something and maybe we can walk around and sit in places other than the car.” Just like old times indeed.

* * *

He’d never tell him this but the house feels significantly less threatening on the second try and though he hadn’t wanted to expect this, he begrudgingly accepts its truth. 2D’s presence was the only variable that had changed since yesterday and he can’t identify any other factor that could be making the difference.

The singer looks comical in the blue hooded sweatshirt he picked up from a Primark in Hanley the previous night. Not only is it far outside of his usual style choices, he’s also clearly taken Murdoc’s previous request to heart and has the hood up and snug around his face so that only a few tufts of his similarly blue hair are visible. Murdoc’s laughed every time he’s tried to make eye contact with him and as they walk up to the door and he looks over to tell him about the house, he laughs again. 

“It can’t be that funny. What, have you got a lot of laughs built up or something? Or was this all another prank of yours.” 2D eyes Murdoc’s outfit, which lacks any sort of visibly coverage save for the collar of his jacket, suspiciously.

“No, no, it’s not,” Murdoc says as he catches his breath. “No one recognizes me here. Or if they do they don’t say anything. My brother told me that would happen. I didn’t believe him at the time but so far, the bastard’s been spot on.” He turns his attention back to the house. “So anyways, the house is a fucking cesspool and even though we’ll have to figure out some way to put some the stuff in storage eventually, the most pressing thing right now is finding the will. Otherwise, I’d prefer to spend as little time in there as possible.”

2D nods. “Right. So we go in and then leave.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, might as well get it over with then.” 2D looks at him expectantly, reminding Murdoc that he’s the one with his hand resting on the doorknob. He grips it more tightly, as if to turn it, but the memory of yesterday still lingered. It would overwhelmingly humiliating if it were to happen again.

“Are we going to go in?” the singer asks again.

“Don’t be daft of course we are. It’s just, you know, really disgusting…it’s got rats, mice, moldy food, I’m sure there are bed bugs too…”

“Well, if you’re worried about that I could just go in and-”

“No, don’t be ridiculous.” He had thought about, almost suggested it himself even, but now that 2D had said it first that plan was no longer an option. It was bad enough to learn that his nervousness was visible. “You don’t even know where his room is. I just wanted to give you a fair warning because the last thing I need is you having one of your anxiety attacks or breakdowns where you question the meaning of everything.” With that, he opens the door and strides inside. In his mind, he pretends that he’s walking on stage for a performance.

“I haven’t had one of those in a while,” 2D remarks behind him. He coughs. “Ugh. It’s pretty dusty in here.”

Murdoc turns to him and gestures towards the rooms within view. “Look familiar?”

“It’s like we time traveled. You know I’ve got a terrible memory but what I do remember is all still here, at least I think it is.” He squints at one of the chairs in the living room. “Except that, that might be new.”

“Well we didn’t exactly spend much time down here. You probably get a good idea of why.”

“You were always such an arse about that. All the ‘don’t leave this room’ and ‘tell me if you need anything from outside.’ At first I thought you were, uh, a bit strange.”

Murdoc laughs. “And then I proved you right, right?”

“Yes, actually, you did, and then some.” 2D looks over to the stairs. “So, should we head up?”

He doesn’t want to. He’d rather do anything else but there isn’t any excuse he can come up with to delay or get himself out of the situation. The sooner they went, the sooner it would be over. “Yeah. The sooner we get out the sooner I can get a drink. And like we were saying last night - watch out for the floorboard.”

As they ascend, it becomes harder and harder to keep his memories at bay. What he finds even more alarming are the physical sensations that he knows aren’t actually happening but he swears he can feel anyways. A soreness in his back as he runs his hand along the banister, a sharp pain on his right cheek once they get to the top of the stairs, another ache in the back of his head as they pass his brother’s old room; every location in the house brought back not just the memories but the sensations as well. It would have been unbearable to do this alone. Thankfully, this time he also has the image of 2D in a hoodie shuffling behind him.

“You don’t want to see your room again?” 2D asks as Murdoc walks past his old room. “We can see if it still looks the same ways as when you left it.”

“No. Like I said- we’re here for one thing and one thing only.” He keeps his eyes fixed on the door at the end of the hall. It ended with his father’s room. “Then we leave.” He knows they’ll have to come back, but for now, he’s trying to keep the visit brief for his own sanity. Already, his feet feel heavier with every step and his muscles feel tense in his back and stomach the closer he gets to the door. When he gets there he stops.

So, are we going to go in?” He can feel 2D’s presence behind him, eager and intrigued.

“I...well…” His brain knows exactly what he wants to do. He wants to open the door, go inside and empty all the drawers out in sight until he finds the will, but his body won’t, or can’t, seem to listen. The last time he had been in his father’s room it had been bad. Bad. He doesn’t want to think beyond that word but it’s pressing against the internal defenses in his mind anyways. “Uh…” He musters enough focus to gesture towards the door.

“Oh, uh, you want me to go in first? Murdoc?” 2D maneuvers himself gracelessly into the space between the wall and Murdoc’s left shoulder. There isn’t enough room in the hallway for them to stand side by side but it’s that he’s trying to get a read on his expression. “Hey, Murdoc?” He asks again, placing a hand on his shoulder and shaking him gently.

The contact causes him to jerk away. His sudden movement makes 2D jump as well.

“What the bloody fuck are you doing?” He yells. “Go on, get in there if you’re so eager.”

2D studies him in confusion. “I’m sorry I thought...never mind.” Slowly, he inches his way past Murdoc, who still hasn’t bothered to move, and opens the door.

Murdoc watches in a daze as the inside of the room becomes visible. Though he hasn’t thought of it in years, when he looks at the room now it brings with it a familiarity like that of an old film reel that he doesn’t have complete control over. The bed is the same, the dresser is the same, the scratching in the walls from the what assumes are rats is also the same. An ash tray sits on the top of his dresser with a handful of cigarettes in it as if his father still actively lived there. Then again, it hadn’t been that long.

At this moment, the sight of 2D’s lanky frame wandering around in the center of everything is the only thing keep him from being completely pulled into the memory.

2D looks back at him, in search of some sort of direction. “So, I’m just gonna go through everything? Do you know where we’re supposed to be looking?

Attempting to play it cool, he shrugs. “Hell if I know. I was just going to empty everything out. Dump it.”

“Okay.” 2D wait expectantly for another moment until he finally understands that Murdoc is not planning on moving from the doorway in the near future. “I’ll get started then? You don’t have any particular way you want to do it? Or..?”

“Go right ahead.”

So he does. The singer starts with the dresser, opening all of the drawers and sifting through them. He doesn’t find much outside of the occasional article of clothing, empty medicine bottles and empty space. “Nothing much here,” he says. Then he looks over to the left of Murdoc. “We could try the closet?”

Murdoc turns his head and sees the door. “Okay, yeah. It’s the only other place left, isn’t it? Unless he has in his mattress but that wouldn’t make any sense.” No one in their right mind would be after anything that belonged to his father.

For this, 2D pulls his hood down. “I’m taking this off then.” He pauses with uncertainty, waiting to see if Murdoc is going to reprimand him. “There isn’t anyone in here anyways and I feel ridiculous.”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. The hood is the least of his worries. He’s needing a drink more than ever now. “Whatever, just get on with it.”

2D delves into the closet in a similar fashion. With the door obscuring his view of his progress, Murdoc relies on the sounds of items being moved around and the jostling of coat hangers. Occasionally, there’s a sneeze.

“It’s even dustier in here that out there. Do you think he’s gone in here in the past year or so?”

“Beats me.”

The sound of object being shifted goes on for another few minutes, and he listens to them silently as he leans against the doorframe. Suddenly the noises stop.

“This looks promising,” 2D says, sounding excited. It sounds like he’s dragging something and, as he comes back into view, Murdoc sees that he’s dragging a collection of shoeboxes with him.

“What? You think he hid the will in one of his shoes?” He asks incredulously, watching as the singer sets the boxes in the center of the room.

“Nope.” 2D pulls the tops off of the boxes, revealing piles upon piles of old envelopes. “Not shoes, all of this. He’s got a lot of mail in here. Don’t know what for. It was all the way in the back of the closet too.” He pulls one out of the bottom of the pile from one of the boxes. “None of them are opened...”

“Well then why do you think it would be in there?” His heart rate quickens again. It isn’t clear why this is making him so nervous but something about it tells him that they both need to exit and exit _now._

Clearly, 2D doesn’t have the same feelings about the matter. “Can I open one? I’ll get back to looking after that but....it’s just...” He squints at the handwriting on the envelope. “It looks like, um, some of these are addressed to you.”

“What?”

“They’re...they’re all for you.”

“If it’s not the will I’m not interested.” He isn’t even bothering to hide the panic in his voice.

2D is completely immersed. “Look at this one…”

“2D…”

Without warning, 2D opens the envelope in his hand and pulls out a few pages of notebook paper with what looks to be cursive writing written upon them. “April 18th, 1966,” he reads, unaware of the others’ confused and now distressed look. “‘Dear baby, I think I’ll call you Murdoc for the sea we’ll soon travel…” He pauses in shock. “Murdoc...is this? Murdoc?” he asks. “Murdoc?” he asks again when the other doesn’t respond. “Murdoc!”

* * *

 

_2D’s gaze returns to the photos, fixed on the different images on the desk in front of him. Murdoc watches the corners of his mouth pull upwards into a smile, seemingly in slow motion. Every second that passes feels like an eternity. A long, excruciating eternity. He wants to believe that 2D hasn’t stumbled upon what he thinks he has, but in his gut he knows that it’s exactly that. The photos._

_Meanwhile, 2D remains oblivious as ever. He thumbs one of the photographs tenderly. “Is this you, Murdoc?” He tilts it up so the he can see it from where he’s still sitting on the ground._

_Murdoc just stares. He sees a baby with a fluffy head of black hair, sound asleep._

_“Aww,” 2D coos. “You were cute.”_

_He’s wrapped in a thick, gray blanket. Keeping him steady are two hands which hold him in a lap._

_“Who’s that holding you?”_

_2D can’t tell. The top of the picture isn’t there. It’s never been there. Murdoc opens his mouth to say something but no sound comes out._

_Mum._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay with this one, there was a lot going on but as some of you may see you guessed part of the plot correctly! Also, though this hasn't come up I want to reassure everyone that I haven't forgotten 2D's own trauma and that it *will* be part of the story. 
> 
> Thoughts, questions and comments mean a lot!


	4. Chapter 4

What he’s so painfully aware of is the way his emotions impact his physical reactions. It hurts emotionally and it hurts physical. It’s what’s making his stomach feel like it’s about to drop out of his body and it’s what’s causing his throat to tighten, daring him to give in to the moisture gathering behind his eyes. It hurts and he doesn’t know what to do with what he hears 2D reading, or how to comprehend what he thinks it all means. But his reaction is strong and disorienting. How could he be feeling this way over someone who he never knew? 

He doesn’t want to break down in front of 2D, and he keeps that as his main objective from that point forward. He blocks out the letter, his feelings, what 2D is doing or saying to him and focuses all his energy on leaving. It gets him down the steps and into the car. He doesn’t remember starting the car, let alone how he’s even managing to drive. In his hand is the letter 2D was reading, gripped tightly against the steering wheel as he weaves recklessly through traffic. 

2D is huddled in the passenger seat, peering out the window between his fingers. Murdoc remembers now. He had almost left him behind at the house. As he presses down on the gas, evoking a roar from the engine, he imagines that the singer probably wishes that he did. His suspicions are confirmed when he makes a particularly sharp left turn and 2D lets out a surprised cry, clinging desperately to the door handle.

“Y-you don’t think you’re going a tad fast?” He stammers.

Murdoc only glares at him in response. He doesn’t trust himself to speak right now.

“And where are we going that you have to drive like you’ve gone completely mental?”

If he didn’t have the steering wheel to hold onto as firmly as he was doing so, he knows he would be visibly shaking out of anger. Or was it grief? Grief over what? THe emotions were still jumbled and confusing. Whatever it was, it was too overwhelming for him to humor any of 2D’s questions. Even if he wanted to, he isn’t sure that he could but he knows exactly where he’s trying to go.

He steers the car across various streets and intersections, earning an admirable list of honks and curses as he cuts off other drivers or tries to merge into a new lane without warning. As they pass a road sign that reads “Stoke Health,” he knows they’re close. He grips the steering wheel even tighter. Weeks earlier, this type of visit would have made him uneasy. Now, he doesn’t care. Someone needed to bear the brunt of this. 

“Are you trying to kill us?!” 2D is starting to sounds frustrated. Scared and frustrated. 

Murdoc swerves into the prison parking lot and brings the car to a screeching halt. Despite spending the last hour on the cusp of a breakdown or a sever car accident, he had made it. He doesn’t check to see if he’s parked in a parking spot nor does he check to see if 2D follows him as he exits the car, propelled forward by every intense and unclear emotion he’s been trying to suppress, hand clenching the letter. 

“I’m here to see Hannibal Niccals,” he says through clenched teeth, slamming the letter on the check-in desk. 

The security guard glances at him and then back at the computer screen in front of him. “Okay, I’ll need his birthday.”

Murdoc’s eye twitches. It’s like the hospital all over again. “The ninth of August, 1963.”   


“And your name?”

“Murdoc Niccals. His brother.” 

The guard clicks around the computer for another few seconds. As he’s doing so, 2D wanders into the lobby, stopping when he reaches Murdoc’s side. “Um, prison? What exactly are we doing here?”

“Hmm.” The security guard remarks. “It looks like you don’t have a scheduled visit and you’re also not on his approved guest list.”

“What’s  _ that  _ supposed to mean?” He’s tapping his left foot anxiously now.

“It means you can’t visit him. Not today at least, and not until he approves you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“No, that’s part of our policy here. If you-”

“That’s fucking bullshit!” He’s squeezing the letter even harder now, willing himself to abstain from grabbing the guestbook on the desk and hurling it him. “I’m Murdoc fucking Niccals from Gorillaz and I need to talk to my lying shitstain of a brother  _ today _ ! Right now.” He’s at the end of his fuse now. His goal of avoiding a breakdown in front of 2D was feeling less and less feasible. Over and over, the first few lines on the letter run through his head.  _ Dear baby. I think I’ll call you Murdoc. _

The guard looks at him, bored. “Mr. Niccals, if you feel that strongly about a visit then I encourage you to contact your brother and make arrangements from there. And I’ve witnessed my share of adult temper tantrums since I started here and you’re not intimidating in the slightest. When you’re ready to communicate like a grown man we can talk about your options.”

“Why don’t you just call him, Muds?” 2D suggests. He then addresses the guard. “If he calls his brother and he says yes, do you think they could have a visit? Murdoc’s...uh...he’s got a lot going on right now. I don’t have my favorite keyboard with me right now but if you want, I’m happy to jam out with you, if you’re a music fan. We can make our own instruments, maybe use the pens like they’re drumsticks or something. We could both sign an autograph or a few.” 

“How does he expect to call him. They aren’t supposed to have phones in there.” The guard isn't bothered in the slightest. Then he sighs. “Whatever. I’m willing to make an exception here because my cousin saw you in concert last year and had the time of her life. And also because you’re just as nice in person as I would expect you to be, 2D.” 

“Oh really? Thank you.” 2D smiles.

“Alright, I’ll call him down,” the guard says. “In the meantime, you’ll both have to go through security.”

“He’s not coming with me,” Murdoc says bluntly. 

The guard rolls his eyes. “Okay, well then just  _ you _ will have to go through security. Just follow the signs and someone will direct you from there.”

It takes Murdoc a least five tries before he makes it through the metal detector. First it’s his car keys, then his necklace, then it’s his phone; the list goes on. Just when he’s about to break the machine apart with his bare hands, he’s cleared to go through and he doesn’t look back.

_ I think I’ll call you Murdoc. _

The words he remembers persist as he waits behind the glass in the visiting area, the letter still gripped in his hand. After another minute he’s pacing in anticipation.

Growing up he hadn’t given his mother a lot of thought. She had always been a mystery, almost to the point where she felt more like a fictional character than a real person. All his father had told him was that she didn’t want him, so she left him. The reason  _ why _ she didn’t want him changed frequently depending on how angry his father was with him, how drunk he was and so on. He had grown up with this and learned to accept it. Now he was faced with the truth that his mother had been trying to contact him for, if all the boxes were indeed addressed to him as 2D said, years, possibly even decades. 

His father had never, for the duration of Murdoc’s childhood, mentioned anything about letters. He can feel his throat tightening again. 

The jingling of keys brings his attention back to the visiting cell where he sees a guard escorting his brother to the seat across the table. When Hannibal sees him he shoots him a menacing, toothy grin. “Well look who decided to stop by.”

Murdoc imagines that if he wasn’t already at his wits end, he might have been intimidated by this, but right now his confusion has sharpened into anger. In a way, he’s thankful there’s glass separating them because if there wasn’t there’s no telling what he would do.

He waits until the guard leave before grabbing the phone off the hook and slamming the letter against the glass. Hard. “Do you want to tell me what the  _ fuck _ this is?” He’s yelling and he doesn’t care.

Hannibal laughs at him. “What the hell’s gotten into you this time? I don’t what that is. Is it from one of your crazed fans?” He doesn’t bother looking at the paper. 

“READ IT.” Murdoc demands, voice cracking.

“You better watch who you’re talking to you little shit.” His brother’s tone is icy and threatening, enough to shake Murdoc’s initial bravado.

“I went to the hospital, I talked to the doctors,” he says. He’s more cautious now, but his voice still quivers with resentment. “And then I went to the blood shithole of a house just like you said. You want me to finish the job, you’ll tell me why the hell there are boxes and boxes of fucking letters addressed to ME in our father’s closet.” He looks away when he feels his eyes begin to water, blinking furiously.

Hannibal laughs. “Oh, so you’re going to try it that way then?”

Murdoc doesn’t answer. 

“Okay, I’ll play along. I don’t know, I don’t care.” Hannibal leans closer to the glass as he speaks. “And I hope you’re not stupid enough to think you can be the one doing the threatening here, Nerdoc. I may be locked up now but once I’m out I can break a lot more than your nose.” When he sees the other visibly blanch he laughs again. “Awww, are you going to cry now? Are you going to run and cry to your friend at the diner like you did when you were little? Christ, this is too easy.”

His words bring on a new wave of dizziness and nausea, almost enough to make him bolt for the door and end the confrontation right there, but it’s those same warm, loving words replaying over and over in his mind that keep his feet planted where they are. “I don’t believe you,” he finally says. “You were there when he found me on the doorstep. This was dated in April a few months before I was born. I arrived with these letters.”

“Why do you care? She was gone before he was.”

“Because he told that she didn’t want me, that she hated me. He said that I was such a disappointment to her, that I was so worthless that…” Murdoc trails off. “And I believed that. I fucking believed that. Then I find these boxes and...”

Hannibal rolls his eyes. “Okay, fine. You really want to know? He said she was a stalker, completely bonkers. He said he was going to throw them all away. It looks like he didn’t do that. Why? I don’t know, I was five but, look, none of that matters because she’s dead and gone, and you still have a will to get me.”

The weight of the tension in the room is heavy as Murdoc thinks.  _ Dead and gone _ . “Don’t play dumb. I know there’s more than that.” He also knows that he’s Hannibal’s only connection to the will, and he know’s Hannibal knows this too. While his threats and jabs are difficult to hear, Murdoc knows he has leverage. “There’s no way there isn’t more than that. Why all the letters? Why hide them? Why are there torn pictures I’ve had for years of someone holding me as a baby?”

“It’s fucking over, Murdoc! It doesn’t matter any more! You’re famous and rich, you’re life’s a good old walk in the park. I’d say you got the last laugh so what more do you want? Actually, you’re really starting to piss me off right now.”

Easy? How could he say that? How dare he say that? “I’m getting your stupid will. I already came across the bloody ocean when I never wanted to see you or this town ever again. And after this I’m  _ never, ever _ speaking to you again. None of this shit about my mum affects any of that. The least you can do is humor me this one last time.”

Hannibal continues to glare at him hatefully, but when he sees that Murdoc isn’t backing down he sighs in resignation. “Listen, I don’t know as much as you want me to know but I’ll tell you this one last thing. There was someone at the door the day you arrived. I didn’t come out but I heard fighting, lots of yelling, the feds were called. When it was all over, we had you. He said some crazy woman had tracked him down after one of his impulse trips out of the country he used to take when he had some money. Later on he said she was dead.”

_ “Your mum,” 2D says. “Is it your mum holding you?” _

_ Murdoc can only stare at the picture helplessly. If he had known that the day would lead to a conversation about his mother with 2D of all people he would have never agreed to have practice at his home. It was a foolish mistake born out of his own desperation to get a song written. Him allowing 2D to look through his things without saying anything was his second stumble. He’s the most irritated over that one because it isn’t one that he’s ever made before. Now, he was trapped and 2D was learning far too much about him too quickly.  _

_ “I don’t know...I guess,” he finally says quietly. His only option now is to keep his replies short and vague. _

_ 2D’s expression changes to one of concern as he picks up on Murdoc’s change in demeanor. “I don’t mean to pry. We don’t have to, um, talk about it if you don’t want to, or if she’s dead I’m so-” _

_ “She left me.”  _

_ “Oh.” 2D goes back to studying the picture while Murdoc lets out a tired sigh. What did 2D know about parental abandonment? What did 2D know about anything?  “Maybe she didn’t mean to. She took a nice picture with you.”  _

_ “Yeah, and maybe she didn’t mean to cut off the top part of the photo so I’d never know what she looks like. I’m sure that was completely unintentional too. You’re a bloody idiot.” _

_ 2D runs his hand along the photos that are now strewn across the table. “She left more than one photo. She wouldn’t have done that if she didn’t want you to remember her, right?” _

_ Murdoc pulls a can of beer out of a pack he’s stored under his bed. “It doesn’t matter.” The truth was that he had already nearly driven himself mad with these questions years ago. He doesn’t want to fall back into that place again. “You were right the first time. She’s dead.” _

_ “Dead?” 2D doesn’t sound convinced. “Are you sure?” _

_ “What do you mean ‘am I sure’? Of course I’m sure.” _

_ “No, what I mean is, did you have a funeral? Did you get a phone call from someone? Do you have any record of her being sick?” _

_ “My dad’s been telling me that ever since I could understand anything.” There’s a growing suspicion in his voice. He can’t figure out why 2D is questioning him so much about information he doesn’t have and it bothers him that by not having the information, he may be proving the singer’s point.  _

_ “So he’s been telling you since you were a toddler” 2D tilts his head. “But some of these pictures look like they were from much later than that. So how do you KNOW know?” He pauses when he sees Murdoc’s confused yet angry expression. “But I’m just thinking out loud, you know, you don’t have to listen to me. Actually, don’t listen to me. I like to come up with these sorts of crazy stories sometimes, I don’t always know when I’m doing it. It would happen all the time on my tests in school...my teachers didn’t like it very much…” _

Murdoc blinks. “Yeah? Well how do you know?”

Hannibal looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Because that’s what he said. She was committed to some psych ward and we never heard from her again.”

“I heard from her again.” He can hardly believe he’s about to argue in favor of 2D’s aimless tangent from all those years ago. “I was  _ supposed _ to have heard from her again and that’s why there are boxes full of writing,  _ her _ writing that have been gathering dust in the house.” She was trying to talk to him. She wanted to talk to him. But his father wouldn’t let her. “I have no idea what the most recent one is...I…I don’t know...” He can’t finish his thought. He can see his brother talking to him looking irate, but he can’t hear him. “I have to leave.”

“You what?”

Murdoc doesn’t acknowledge and and moves towards the exit. As he leaves, he hears his brother yelling and cursing at him, banging on the glass, but he doesn’t look back. Only his legs are working correctly. They carry him out to the lobby where 2D is having a friendly chat with the security guard. “Oh, and here he right now,” he says. When he gets a better look at him, his tone changes. “Murdoc...you look like you’ve seen a ghost. Is everything alright?”

“I have to leave.” It’s the only phrase that he can muster. He hates it when he gets this way, like he can barely function. It makes him feel pathetic.

“Oh..okay, of course.” 2D nods. He moves quickly to follow him out of the building, but not before saying goodbye to the guard. “It was nice meeting you! Maybe we’ll see you at a show some time!” 

Once they get get to the care it takes Murdoc a solid five minutes to get the keys out of his pocket. Even worse is getting his hands to stop shaking enough to unlock the door. 

“Do you want me to drive?” 2D asks.

“SOD OFF!” The response comes out with more venom than he intends. 

After that, 2D doesn’t say anything else and they spend another long five minutes in uneasy silence, the only exception being the jingling of the keys as Murdoc tries and fails to fit them into the lock. 

Finally, he unlocks it. 

Unfortunately for Murdoc, he finds it even more difficult to keep it together once he’s in the car. He waits until he hears the sound of the door on the passenger side close before resting his forehead on the steering wheel and shielding his face with his arms. He tries to breathe. 

“So, I guess...I guess that wasn’t too good a visit.” If 2D hadn’t said anything, Murdoc would have altogether forgotten that he was there. Even now, Murdoc thinks of him more as his disembodied voice speaking to him in his head rather than another human body sitting in the seat beside him. He doesn’t know if he can get words out right now and he doesn’t have the energy for any of his normal responses- annoyance, sarcasm, anger - not that they would make him feel much better anyways. All he wants to be able to do now is drive them away, somewhere far, far away. 

“It doesn’t look like you’re feeling very chatty right now.” 2D goes on. “But if you do then I’ll be here. I mean, I guess there isn’t really anywhere else to go. I don’t really want to walk back to the hotel from here. But even if there were, I’d stay here anyways.” 

Murdoc doesn’t say anything.

“Or if you don’t want to talk about that then maybe we can decide what to do for lunch...or is it closer to dinner or somewhere in between? I already know you’re no help with picking specific places but I’m going to look some places up and you can say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry,” Murdoc mutters. Beside him, he hears the seat shift.

“Any type of food you’re in the mood for? So far I see Indian, Greek, pizza, pubs, lots of pubs.”

Slowly, Murdoc pushes himself up so that he’s sitting upright. He’s worn out, but he feels collected enough to get them to their next destination without another disaster. He thinks.

“Your fringe is all, um…” 2D does some undecipherable hand motions towards his forehead. 

"It's what?" Murdoc raises an eyebrow at him before looking into the mirror. What he sees is comical, so much so that he’s surprised that 2D isn’t outright laughing at him. His fringe is going in every haphazard direction possible with most of his forehead visible. He make a small sound of annoyance and brushes it all back into place. How was it that burying his head in the steering wheel resulted in all of that? “I’m glad you’re focused on what’s truly important here, D,” he remarks as he starts the car up. “I need a drink.”

The drive from there is quiet outside of 2D’s occasional restaurant suggestion and Murdoc’s uniform answers of ‘no.’ Besides  that, Murdoc doesn’t offer any information about the day and 2D doesn’t ask. Yet the silence, Murdoc thinks, isn’t all that uncomfortable. 

He drives them back to 2D’s hotel which earns him a puzzled look from the singer. “What about food?

“There’s a bar here, right?”

“Well, yeah but what about food?”

“Why wouldn’t it have food? Let’s just do that. I don’t feel like driving anymore anyways.” Murdoc isn’t very hungry anyways. 

They seat themselves at a booth tucked away in the back. 2D orders a black bean burger and Murdoc orders a pint and a shot of vodka to start. 

“Hey, Murdoc,” 2D says. 

“What?”

“Um..okay. I don’t want you to get mad but...”

“But?”

“But I...well, I’m not sure how to say it…”

“If you don’t want me to be mad then spit it out.” 

“I’m...I’m sorry about everything with the letter. That, uh, wasn’t what we were looking for and it probably wasn’t any of my business. I didn’t mean to throw you and everything else off.” He talking with his mouthful but he sounds apologetic enough.   
  
“It’s stupid and I’m fine.” Murdoc downs his first shot. 

“You don’t look fine.” 

“It should be clear enough I’m not  _ fine _ fine. I don’t even want to be here! I never wanted to be back here ever again.” 

“Yeah, it doesn’t seem like it’s your favorite place to be.” 2D watches him in silent awe as he gulps down his beer.

“You know, when I arrived earlier in the week I hated it, but I thought I’d have a josh of it, that if  I just brushed it off and treated it like it meant nothing then it would, but it can never be that easy,” He rants. Maybe it was the liquor or maybe it was just the days of not talking to anyone earlier in the week building up but he can’t stop himself. “Now I have a new pile of shit to shovel and we aren’t even done with it, we have to go back.” He pauses to motion to the bartender to pour him a round of shots for both him and 2D. He’s had enough with the family revelations to last multiple lifetimes. He intends to drink them both. 

“We don’t have to go back.” 2D looks at him the way a person might look at a stray dog digging through a trashcan. Pity. “Maybe we can look into other options for your brother to handle everything from jail. Or…” He smirks. “You can tell him to fuck off and we can go home.”

There were the trancelike states that surprised him and then the were the self-imposed alcohol induced trances. 2D’s words of  encouragement don’t register because Murdoc’s too focused on achieving the latter. Once the waiter stops by with the shots and he promptly grabs them both off the tray. “While you’re at it, you might as well get us another round. Or better yet, I’ll buy a bottle.”   


“You should order something, Muds,” 2D says as he watches the other gulp them down one after the other. “Something that you can chew.”

Murdoc leans back in his seat and waits for the familiar drowsy effect of the liquor. The last thing he needed now was food. “I didn’t hear what you read,” he says after awhile. “Nothing. Nada. You read the first few lines of the letter and I can’t remember a lick of what came after that. Now that I think about it, I hardly remember the visit in jail or what I was thinking going over there.”

“It’s okay. I forget things all the time.”

“I just...blank out sometimes. It’s a trip. And then there are the times it sneaks up on me. Now that, that I don’t always like.”

“Do you want to look at it again? The letter, I mean.” 

The proposition makes Murdoc’s stomach turn. “Of course I want to look at it again. The only thing is-”

Their waiter stops by with another two shots and an entire bottle of the same vodka, bringing his train of thought to a halt. Murdoc’s eye light up. He wasn’t sure whether he would get the two shots or not. He flashes the waiter a deviant grin. “Thank you, good sir.”

From across the table, 2D frowns. “Actually, we’ll take the check please.” 

“Why? I’m just getting started.” Murdoc quickly consumes the one of the shots. “What? You think I got this bottle just for me? Then again, I can always drink more...” He reaches for the second.

2D just sighs and pulls the final shot away. “I think we should leave.” With that, he gets up to pay at the bar directly rather than wait for the check taking the extra glass with him. 

“Oh, so now that I’m happy like you and all the rest of them want me to be you’re going get all huffy about it? S’that how it’s going to be?” Murdoc says, taking the unopened bottle in his hand. It isn’t until he stumbles right into an adjacent table that he realizes how drunk he really is. He laughs. The dull ache from where he’s hit his hip on the corner of the table tells him he’s getting close to where he wants to be.

2D is at his side within seconds, grabbing his arm and pulling him along. “You’re going to fall, you know.”

Murdoc hiccups and laughs again. “Oookay, mom.”

He’s able to guide him to the lobby before he tries to pry the bottle out of Murdoc’s grip. However, Murdoc’s drunken resolve is too much for him and he loses their tug-of-war handily and the other makes a dash towards the outside. 

“Oh, come on.” 2D is starting to sound exasperated. “And don’t think I’m going to let you drive back to your room that way,” he calls after him. 

It’s gotten dark since they first went inside. Murdoc stops when he reaches and empty part of the hotel parking lot and half sits and half falls down on one of the parking blocks. He doesn’t have much of a plan beyond that. He didn’t want to 2D to take the bottle away from him so he ran away. 

2D isn’t too far behind. “What are you doing out here? What happened to all that, ‘you have to disguise yourself’ and ‘look up what inconspicuous means’?”

“It’s like I said, I’m trying to enjoy myself! Not that you’re making it easy trying to take my hard earned bottle like that.” He wags his finger at him and pulls out a shot glass he slipped into his pocket back at the bar. “But because I’m feeling generous today, you’re still welcome to join.” 

“I’m okay, thanks.” 2D folds his arms. “And for all the bragging you do about how smart you are, you sure make some dumb mistakes like...like telling me that you’re happy right now and expecting me to believe you. Is this about what happened today? You’re brother said something, didn’t he? Or is it the letters?”

“Do you ever stop? ” He doesn’t want to acknowledge the different dots he’s been connecting despite how persistent they are in pushing their way into his brain. He had planned for a few more drinks to make them go away. With 2D present he estimates he might very well need the entire bottle. “You’re acting like this is the first time you’ve seen me get a tad buzzed.”

“It took you ten minutes to open the car door today and I thought you were going to faint when we were back at the house...”

“You know what?” Murdoc moves to put the shot glass back in his pocket. “I’m rescinding your invitation.”

“Something’s bothering you! It’s okay to say that and I, um, I don’t want to pressure you or-”

“Well you are!” Murdoc snaps. He shoots him and icy glare for good measure before turning his focus towards opening his bottle of vodka. 

2D blinks in surprise. “Okay.” he says. “Okay, I can, um, I can drop it now. It’s just...I’ll be honest, and I think you probably know...but I don’t know what I doing here, but if I can...I want to do something.”

“Why?” Murdoc rips the seal of the bottle off with his teeth. “I’m not exactly a joy to be around. Surely you’d have more fun back in the states with Noodle and Russ doing yogalates or whatever it is she’s gotten into. You don’t  _ have _ to be here.” He laughs darkly. “As unbelievable as that might sound.”

2D twiddles his fingers nervously as he takes a few steps closer. “Can I sit?”

“Whatever.”

The singer eyes the now open bottle in his lap. “And...can I have some of that? Just a sip.”

Murdoc chuckles at this. “Ohhhh so the truth comes out.” His aim is unsteady as he tips the bottle to fill one of the glasses. He pours until it overflows. “There you go. Just a sip.”

To his surprise, 2D gulps down a noticeable portion of the alcohol. “So…” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe you don’t but..do you remember that one night in Jamaica where we spent the entire night drinking on the beach? The one where it got a little...out of hand?”

Murdoc squints. There were many instances where he drank on the beach at night in Jamaica. “The night you had to convince me that swimming across the ocean back the England wasn’t the best idea?” 

“No.” 

“The night where I knicked a sword from that one performer and tried to cut the top of a champagne bottle but I kept missing?”

“Very terrifying, but no.”

Then it hits him. “Oh right, right. That night. The night with my foot. That was one of the best nights we had there, maybe  _ the _ best night. I could never forget that one.”

His answer seems to fluster the singer, though he can’t imagine why. “Yeah, it was, um, really...great. And I’m not lying about that, Muds. It was one of the..I mean, I’m not trying to be weird. I just never knew…” He clears his throat. “But yes- the one with your foot. What I’m trying to say is- you remembering how much we drank that night, right?”

“I was completely sloshed. It’s a miracle I remember what I do.”

“Yeah, and then I told we couldn’t just leave all those bottle on the beach. So you said we should try to carry them, all of those glass bottles, over to the dumpster by the building.”

“Ha! I did? What the hell was I thinking? Weren’t there ten or twenty of them?”

“There were enough that it would have required multiple trips, but you thought you’d try to gather them all up at once.” 

Murdoc smiles. The memory is coming back now. He can hear almost hear the clank of the bottles as he blundered through the sand. 

“You got all the way to the pool.” 2D has a distant expression on his face as if he’s watching the events happen all over again. “And then there was all that broken glass, but you kept on walking.”

“Right! I stepped right into it it all. I thought it was hilarious.”

“But it wasn’t. There was so much blood but you just said-”

“'It's just a flesh wound!” Murdoc laughs.

“It’s not funny. It wasn’t funny. I nearly believed you, too, because I was just as drunk but once I saw all the blood I thought you were going to bleed to death.”

“You don’t die from a foot wound, D.” 

“The doctor saying there was ‘an entry wound and an exit wound’ and that you were lucky it didn’t cause any permanent nerve damage.” 

They had spent the rest of the night in the emergency room. Murdoc had stepped on a large shard of glass and it had gone right through the side of his right foot. He needed thirteen stitches and they had to wait hours to get them. “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad. I thought it was lovely night.” He remembers how 2D had rested his head down on his hospital bed and fallen asleep as they waited. Murdoc hadn’t wanted 2D to come back with him at first, but the singer had insisted. No one had ever waited with him. “But really, I’m enjoying storytime but I’m still a little unclear about, er, exactly why you’re here.”

2D looks at him, uncertain. “Um, I don’t know. If I didn’t follow you just, what would have happened? If I hadn’t been there that night in Jamaica, what would’ve happened? You probably would have passed out with a bleeding foot.”

“I would have survived. So I lose a foot, big deal. It takes a little more than that to keep me down.” He takes another drink and sets the bottle down between them. 

“But what I’m saying is that it doesn’t have to be that way. It’s better for you if it’s not that way. Wouldn’t you rather save the foot?” 

“It’s how I operate. it gets to a point where you get used to the whole ‘doing things my way’ and ‘handling things on my own.’ I did a lot on my own growing up. I was going to do all of this on my own, too.”

“Well,” 2D says. “This time, you also have me.” He looks down at his glass nervously and then at Murdoc.

“I guess I do. And whether I like it or not, apparently.” Murdoc shifts in his seat and takes another swig from the bottle. “But you know, I never asked.” 

“I know.” 

Murdoc looks at the sky. It’s an unusually clear night for Stoke and if he imagines hard enough, he can transport himself back to that alley in Detroit where he first heard the opening lines of the song they eventually came to work on together. In such a short time, so much had changed. 

Beside him, 2D yawns. “Just know I’m around, okay? We can, um, talk whenever or whatever you want to do. I just don’t want to bail you out of jail or have to call 911 because you’re dying or something.”

“Yeah, let’s hope you don’t because if you did I’d be fucked seeing as you don’t even know the right number to call.” Murdoc teases. “We’re not in the states anymore, it’s 999.” He burps. “Duh.”

The response appears to relax 2D a little bit. “Whatever,” he says with an eye roll and a smirk. 

They spend the next few hours talking about whatever comes to mind. This time, 2D doesn’t stop him when he continues to drink. Instead, he waits there with him until he is barely lucid. Murdoc doesn’t remember much from that point except for bits and pieces of his slurring about how shiny the stars look and how 2D’s hair is a nicer shade of blue than the sky. 

By the time he regains his senses, he’s lying on his side in a bathroom facing the toilet. Out of the corner of his eye he sees a small sliver of light followed by the sound a door creaking open slowly. He knows he’s in a bathroom somewhere but he’s confused as to how he got there. Then he hears the familiar sound of uncoordinated shuffling. Though he doesn’t feel in any position to sit up and look, the sound is so distinctly 2D that any uncertainty he had about where he is evaporates.

2D doesn’t seem to pick up on the fact that he’s awake and Murdoc decides he wants to keep it that way, sighing as the singer gingerly rests a blanket over top of him. Then, he hears a soft thud which he assumes is the other sitting down somewhere nearby. Outside of the occasional sniff, there isn’t much noise. It isn’t until a few minutes later that he feels a hand graze the side of his face It’s gentle and nervous and it’s a few touches later before Murdoc realizes he’s tucking stray strand of hair behind his ear. At first he tenses, breathing in sharply. Immediately the hand pulls away. 

It takes everything in his power to bring his breathing back to a steady rhythm to maintain his sleeping facade. After he’s remained still for another few minutes, the hand comes back, soft and steady. This time, he still can’t stop himself from instinctively leaning into the touch. It had been so long since he had been touched the way 2D is touching him now. He’s never openly admitted to wanting that type of affection to anyone close to him so he can’t imagine how 2D came to fathom such an idea let alone actually follow through with it. But he’s grateful for it because in that brief moment, his focus on that touch is what finally helps him to forget and drift off into a deep sleep.

* * *

The morning brings the same familiar hangover, but for the first time in a long time he feels somewhat rested. He wakes up in the same place on the bathroom floor only there’s more light and when he rolls over, he sees 2D is no longer there. 

Pushing himself up with a groan, he walks stiffly out of the bathroom where’s he’s greeted by 2D. The singer is sitting on the hotel bed surrounded by a collection of muffins that Murdoc assumes he took from the breakfast buffet, scribbling in his journal. “G’morning,” he says, resting his pen down. “I got some breakfast.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m just changing locations,” Murdoc croaks before flopping down on the other side of the bed and burying his head in the nearest pillow. His neck and back are sore from sleep on the hard floor, and the pounding in his head is terrible. For a moment, he considers adding in how well he slept last night as a way of indirectly acknowledging what 2D did for him last night. What comes out is, “Can’t believe you brought that thing with you.”

“Well, I had to cancel our-”

“Your,” Murdoc corrects. 

“I had to cancel  _ our  _ therapy appointment again to come over here, but I figured I could still keep up with my thought record and finding myself and all that. You can always use it if you want to, I dunno, think about stuff.”

“Pass.”

“I figured. I also brought along, um, well, you know...the song.”

“Yeah, yeah.” This time he gives a flippant handwave. He doesn’t know why thanking 2D even crossed his mind. It wasn’t the first time he had taken care of him after a night of too much drinking.

“I didn’t bring a keyboard but I thought we could still tweak the arrangement or, uh, I dunno write some more; might help to get your mind off things.”

Murdoc groans. That night seems so long ago. Who was he when he was sitting at the piano with 2D just a week - which feels likes years - ago? It’s definitely not who he is now. How was he supposed to know that that day was the last day he’d get to live free of everything Stoke had burdened him with since his return? If he were to look at the song now, would he even still like it? A part of him is no longer the same, but he’s too hungover to decide whether this is good or bad. In the moment, it’s disorienting and he doesn’t like it. What  _ is _ coming back are his memories of the past few days: the letters, his mother, his father. He’s resigned to it now- they aren’t going to go away. “I guess we have to go back...get this all over with...eventually,” he mutters.

2D closes his journal and takes a bite of muffin. “We can do that but...do you really want to?”

“No.” 

“No,” 2D repeats back. “Well, I’m glad...I’m glad you’re being honest. It’s nice to know what you’re thinking sometimes.” If Murdoc didn’t know him better he would think he was being sarcastic.

Murdoc doesn’t know what to make of that. What he does know is that the sooner they find the will, the sooner they can leave but to do that, he would have to prepare himself in some way. “So, do you or do I still have the, uh...the letter?”

“You dropped it on the seat but I brought it in,” 2D says. He points to the dresser. “It’s over there...but you don’t have to read it if you’re not ready,” he warns as Murdoc gets up and walks over. “Or if you want I could read it to you.”

“Christ, 2D, I know you think I’m a headcase right now but I’m not  _ that _ fragile. It’s just a stupid letter.” It was just a one of many letters written to him by a mother he never knew, that he never got the chance to read as a child which was a time in his life when he needed it most. And she was just a mother who his family lied to him about, who he thought abandoned him. No, not a big deal at all. 

However, 2D isn’t entirely wrong. Murdoc would be lying to himself if he denied being anxious to read it. It had only taken him a few near meltdowns and a drinking binge to work himself up to this point, but he doesn’t want to stall any longer. Running on sheer willpower and determination, he pulls the paper out of the envelope and- “Wait.” He squints. “I need my glasses.” Did he have his glasses with him?

“Oh? Do you remember bringing them?”

“How should I know? I just came out of a bloody booze coma.” 

“Maybe this is them.” He hears 2D moving around the room behind him. Eventually, he’s at his side, glasses in hand. “Found them in your jacket pocket.”

Grumbling, Murdoc grabs them out his hand and finally unfolds the letter. 

_ April 18th, 1966 _

_ Dear baby, I think I’ll call you Murdoc for the sea we’ll soon travel. “Guardian of the sea”...I think that will suit you well and this journey will require all the guidance and good-fortune fate can spare. I’m nervous for our trip because I’ve never traveled so far away from home but I’ve been granted a permit to work in London and for your father it will all be worth it. I want you to know him, and I want you to have a good life. If I’m being honest, though I would love to raise you here with my family, becoming a mother is scary for me and I don’t know if I can raise you all on my own nor do I believe this country, my home, will be so forgiving. So I’m going to be strong and I know you can be too and when you get older we can look back on this journal laugh over how easy this move turned out to be. It may be awhile before I can write to you again but know that I love you, I love you and I can’t wait to meet you. - Mommy _

And that was it.

Murdoc stares at the letter a moment longer. Her handwriting slants to the right, delicate and neat. Did that mean she was a tidy person? A shy person? There isn’t much he can tell from her handwriting yet he tries anyways. It’s only a paragraph but rather than the panic he was expecting to have to fight, he’s feeling unnaturally calm and immersed in the brief glimpse it give him into a world he never had the chance to be a part of or even know. 

However, the questions don’t stop. According to his brother she was mentally unstable and careless, but the letter in front of him paints a pictures of a mother who loved him, who was thinking and planning for their future. At the same time, if that was all true, it didn’t explain why she left. 

He sets the letter down on the desk, staring at the wall in front of him. “2D,” he asks quietly, “how many of these things did you think there were in there?”

“Uh, that’s a good question. There were a couple shoe boxes but they weren’t each entirely full. Maybe at least fifty or more.” 

Murdoc closes his eyes. “Do you remember if the envelopes had anything else on them, or did they all look like this one?”

There’s a pause. “I don’t remember, but I promise I’m trying.”

“Then…” Murdoc stops to think hard about what sort of series of events he’s about to set into motion. Again, their exchange from so many years ago echoes in his head.  _ It doesn’t matter. She’s dead. How do you KNOW know?  _ “Then we’ve got to go back to the house. Today.”

“Today?” 2D sounds surprised.

“You’ve got it.” He winces. “But first I’m going to need a Tylenol...or five.”

* * *

They arrive at the home within the hour. Murdoc’s filled with the same uncomfortable feelings as the last visit and as he steps through the door, all of his thoughts and fear scream at him to turn around and leave.

“You have a favorite color, right? Was it blue or was it green?” 2D asks from behind him.

“Favorite color? What are you on about now?”

“It’s something I do when I’m sca- I mean, it’s something I do when I’m stuck in a place where I don’t want to be, and I feel myself getting to the point where I think I’m going to, uh, panic- no, I mean, get REALLY upset.”

Murdoc rolls his eyes and begins to walk up the stairs. He didn’t need 2D wasting any more time. If it was that important, he could follow him and talk at the same time. 

To his chagrin, 2D does just that. “What I do is I look around the room and try to find and name five objects that are my favorite color, and then I repeat those names over and over again, and it keeps me, uh, distracted. So instead of being upset, I actually get kinda bored.”

“That sounds completely moronic.” 

“Okay, let’s give it a try.” 2D pauses to think. “Um, there’s isn’t a lot of blue or green that I see so maybe you have to pick your second favorite color...or maybe whatever color you like best out of grey or brown or white…”

“Where do you think we are? Primary school? Jeez.” Murdoc pushes through the his father’s bedroom door without thought. In the center of the floor are the boxes of letters, unmoved from days earlier. 

“No, just trying to help.” 

“You can help by finding that will,” he says as he kneels down on the floor beside the boxes. With a tentative hand, he reaches into the one in front of him. He stops the second his fingers brush against the envelopes. He hadn’t planned past this moment. Did he want to read them all this afternoon? Did he want to take them with him? 

His heart pounds his chest as he reads the first envelope. All it says is his name. He flips past that one. Another with his name. He flips again and sees his name again By the fourth letter, he has a return address. Then another. And another. He keeps going and going, location after location stamping itself onto his memory- Stoke-on-Trent, London, New York, Louisiana, and list grow from there.

“I found it!” 2D excitedly waves a piece of paper in his face. Murdoc presumes it’s the will. “It was in his pillowcase. What a funny hiding place.”

Murdoc doesn’t answer, transfixed by the pages in front of him. Hesitantly, he skips over the current box and reaches back to the letter farthest back. He rips it out of the envelope and reads the date. June 6th, 2006. His birthday. He nearly stops breathing. 

“What?” 2D asks. 

“There...there are a lot of these.” His head is spinning. 

“Yeah.” 2D muses. When Murdoc doesn’t respond he probes further. “What are you thinking, Muds?” The beginning of worry in his voice is clear. “Can you name me five grey things in the room?”

“Would you stop with that? It’s just location, and then another location and fucking this?” He gestures towards the letter in his hand. “She kept writing me for decades! And I thought, I don’t what I thought...” He didn’t know what to make of any of this. So what 2D had suggested to him all those years ago really was turning out to be true. And as always, there were questions. Was she still alive? Did he want her to be alive? If she was still alive why did she stop trying to write him?

“Maybe she…” the singer trails off, unsure of whether it’s safe to proceed. Murdoc has a good idea of  what he’s thinking anyways.  _ Maybe she’s still out there, somewhere _ .

He gulps. She could be alive or she could be dead, but that wasn’t what he needed to focus on right away. What was most notable now was the clear trail of different locations left through her return addresses. These were places where she had either lived or stayed as a guest over the course of her life. And throughout it all she hadn’t forgotten about him. Why? 

All he has are questions. Infinite, unanswerable questions. But were they are all unanswerable? If he wanted to, he could....

2D struggles to get his next sentence out. “I, uh, this is a lot of, um, stuff.” 

His addition almost gets a chuckle out of Murdoc. Almost. What 2D was expecting to get himself into by flying out to Stoke was a mystery but there’s no way he could have prepared for this. 

“We can take them with us if that would be easier,” he suggests.

Murdoc shakes his head, not because he thinks it’s a bad idea but because of the ideas he’s having now which are all ridiculous, stupid even. _Utterly_ _ mental…but also possible _ . 

“No?” 2D asks.

“I could…” He stops himself from saying the rest but it continues in his head whether he likes it or not. 

_ I could try to find her _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!
> 
> We've finally arrived at the "road trip" part of the story. 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos help to keep me going. I'm open to any comments, questions or concerns as well. Have a great rest of the weekend!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I don't typically add beginning notes but am doing so this time for the sake of warnings. Going forward, I'll only include a beginning note in the instance of potentially triggering content.
> 
> WARNING: allusions to past csa.

He dreams again that night. This time whatever it is even closer than ever but for some reason, he isn’t moving. And then it’s even closer. All he wants to do is run but he can’t, so he squeezes his eyes shut and tries to make himself believe he’s invisible. He flinches when he feels his wrist being grabbed and cracks his eye open enough to see a human hand. Something wet and slimy runs along his ear as the hand begins to rub his arm.  _ Tongue, _ his brain tells him.  _ It’s a tongue. _ He feels like he’s going to throw up. Still, his feet won’t move. His arms won’t move. His body won’t move. Finally, the immense terror propels his body into action. He jerks away. Hard.

And then he’s awake. 

For a second, Murdoc thinks he’s still dreaming because all he can see is darkness. However, it’s the pleasant glow of the TV screen that brings him back. Never in his life has he been so relieved to see the SyFy channel or hear 2D snoring off to his left. Even so, his heart still pounds in his chest.

He glances at the clock on the nightstand. It’s 4:15 in the morning; way too early to get up but the thought of trying to go back to sleep only makes him more upset. “Always in the middle of the fucking night,” he mutters to himself. “Every fucking night.” Unless he drinks himself to sleep. Last night he had actually felt tired and had been thinking about his mother. Foolishly he thought that would be enough for him to have a normal night’s sleep but his brain had a way of finding ways to pervert his thoughts and find connections to memories he hated no matter how unrelated they might be. 

Using only the light from the TV screen and unsteady from nerves, he walks to the bathroom. He’s tense and alert, so much so that it’s difficult for him to believe that minutes earlier he was sound asleep in 2D’s hotel room on the pull out bed. He hadn’t even planned to stay the night. As he splashes cold water on his face he wonders how he had lost track of time. 

They had taken the boxes of letters along with the will and some stray items from his old room back to the hotel. He remembers how he didn’t protest when 2D offered to make some phone calls to the hospital, the General Register Office, and landlord regarding the rent on the property. Then they left, and Murdoc, along with all of his belongings from the house, came up to 2D’s room and sat himself on the sofa by the bed. And he had stayed there. Even as he complained about the size of the room, the lack of alcohol, and later 2D’s decision to flip the TV on for the SyFy channel original movie marathon, he stayed. He told 2D is was because he didn’t trust him not to lose the letters.

His mind drifts again to the house and his plan. Did he really want to look for his mother? Did he really want to know anything more about her? He couldn’t possibly be thinking of prolonging his trip when he was about to be voted out of his own band, yet he had everything he needed, and that had to mean something, right?  _ Stoke-on-Trent, London, New York, Louisiana _ . The first few locations he remembers flash across his mind. 

On the TV screen, a girl screams as a grotesque, reptilian creature chases her through a swamp while Murdoc walks back to bed. He stops and watches the scene play out. The monster’s tongue darts between it’s teeth as it growls and pants. Gulping, Murdoc shudders and heads back to the bathroom. This time, he doesn’t dry his hands after and another round of cold water. Instead, he gathers some water in his hand and walks over to the bed where 2D is sleeping and lets the water fall right on his face.

The singer wakes up mid-snore. “Wha?... What the hell, Murdoc?” He’s half asleep, but clearly irate. 

“The TV’s been on all bloody evening and after this shit week I deserve some peace and quiet,” Murdoc snarls. “So turn it off.”

2D sits up and rubs his eyes. “You didn’t have to wake me up that way. I didn’t hear you say anything about it all night. You were  _ asleep _ last I checked.” He glances over to the remote on the nightstand. “Are you saying you couldn’t reach the remote from where you were?”

Murdoc glares at him and then at the TV. In the dark light, he can’t quite locate the power button and momentarily, he considers grabbing the lamp off the dresser and swinging it at it. “Well…CLEARLY I can’t reach it now so either you do it or I do it with whatever I pick up first,” he says, sounding more panicked than he wanted to.

2D’s face softens in an implicit understanding, and he reaches for the remote and switches the TV off. “How long have you been up, Muds?”

He exhales. “I don’t know. I just woke up.”

It’s awkward standing there. Without the light from the television he can’t see 2D’s face. 

“Well, room service doesn’t start for another two hours.” 2D yawns as he flips on the lamp by his bed. 

“Is that all you think about?”

“It’s how I like to start my day. And it looks like we’re getting started a bit early today.”

“We?” Murdoc crosses his arms. “Who said we?”

2D sighs and Murdoc can tell by the tired and annoyed look on his face that he doesn’t have the endurance to exchange words with him. “Alright, if that’s how you want it I’ll go back to sleep then.” There it was. “And you can do…whatever it is you do at four in the morning. But just so you know, if you want to wake me up again just a nudge would be enough.” He flips the lamp off and begins to burrow down into his covers. 

“Whatever. Now that I don’t have your shitty movies to worry about maybe I can finally get some shut eye myself.” Murdoc walks back to the pullout bed and pulls the comforter around himself defiantly. He can’t imagine any way to go back to sleep but he knows he can put on act. 

Minutes go by and 2D doesn’t say anything. Still, he waits for him unsure of what exactly he’s waiting for him to do. What he does know is that it isn’t silence. “Hey, uh..2D,” he finally says. 

“What?” He sounds uncharacteristically grumpy. 

He doesn’t know what. He wanted to hear another human’s voice? That was something he would say ever that out loud. “I’m...I’m going to go for a walk.” 

The simple statement is enough to make 2D sit up. “Is everything alright?” The concern in his voice is back but what’s amusing is how he asks the question like he thinks he would actually be able to do anything useful in his half asleep state if something actually  _ wasn’t _ alright. Murdoc also notes his extreme case of bedhead. The two factors are almost enough to completely calm him down.

“Just need some air,” he mutters as he gets up and walks towards the door.

“Where are y-” 

He leaves before 2D finishes his sentence. However, his walk doesn’t last long. He walks up and down the stairwell and then around the lobby, ignoring how other guests whisper to each other as he passes. Then he walks out into the parking lot and past the broken glass of the vodka bottle he bought and later dropped from a few nights earlier after he had learned about the letters the first time.

_ Stoke-on-Trent, London, New York, Louisiana. _

“Oh, shut up!” He yells, earning himself a concerned look from a passerby. The walk wasn’t helping matters. He decides to head back to the lobby.   


The first thing he sees when he returns to the room is 2D’s empty bed. However, as he walks past the bathroom, he sees the light is on. He can also hear 2D’s voice from inside. Curious, he presses his ear lightly to the door. 

“....Kind and creative and brave.” He’s caught the singer mid-sentence. “You’re going to do very well today and it’s going to be a great day. Hi, 2D. This is a reminder that you’re kind and creative and brave. You’re going to do very well today and it’s going to be a great day…”

Unable to contain himself, Murdoc snorts and 2D stops. He almost falls over when the door swings open abruptly but this only makes him laugh. “Murdoc? I didn’t know you were back. What are you doing just standing there? It’s kinda creepy.”

“What am I doing? The question is what the bloody hell are  _ you _ doing?”

“They’re positive affirmations. It helps me get into a positive mood at the beginning of the day. My therapist also says they can help build self-esteem.”

“That’s not building anything that’s talking to yourself. If you aren’t careful someone’s going to film you doing that and it’ll be all over  _ TMZ _ .”

“Couldn’t see you complaining about that. It would be more publicity than the last record ever got,” 2D says as he strolls out of the bathroom. 

“Oh, ha ha.” Murdoc rolls his eyes. 

“So anyways, we’re both awake now and it’s…”2D squints in the direction of the clock. “...It’s almost five and-”

“And room service doesn’t start until six,” Murdoc mocks. 

“No, I was going to say that we could go over what we have left to do with, um, you dad and the house and the will,” 2D says. “And yeah, also breakfast. Anyhow, the earlier we can start the earlier we can leave so when you think about it this really isn’t that bad.”

Murdoc’s stomach turns with nervousness at this. He knows that he wants to leave Stoke. That’s a given. The question he finds himself grappling with now is where he wants to go after he leaves. What to tell 2D and what to do about 2D was next on his list of priorities but as usual, he has no concrete plan.   


“You were ringing up all sorts of people yesterday. How much more is there to do?” This could at lead give him an idea of how much time he had to figure something out. 

“Not as much as there could be,” 2D says as he takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “When my dad died there were a lot discussions about the funeral, cleaning out his room, what to do with his business. Even before that, we had to make decision about when he should go to hospice, whether he wanted to be resuscitated if he accidently died...” 

“How do you ‘accidentally’ die?” Murdoc interrupts.

“Like, if he stopped breathing or something. I hated it because those aren’t the sorts of things you want to do when you’re sad. For you all we had to do was sign off on giving the responsibility to someone else and pay off some debt since you well, um, don’t seem to care that much...about your dad that is.”

“That’s right, I don’t.”

“And there’s nothing wrong with that! If anything, it’s probably made a lot of this easier!”

_ Easier _ . Murdoc knows where he’s coming from but he bristles at the word. “Has anything about this trip seemed easy, moron? What do you know about any of this?” 

“No, uh, that’s not what I mean at all!” 2D backtracks frantically. “I don’t...I don’t know a lot about any of this…” He trails off, but Murdoc can still hear the end of the sentence clearly.  _ Because you won’t TELL me anything. _ But if his memory wasn’t failing him as it so often did, 2D knew more than he was admitting to. He had certainly been present for enough personal situations in Murdoc’s life to put at least some pieces together. 2D was also, well, 2D, so perhaps he had forgotten. 

* * *

_ The next week, 2D arrives at his door the with takeout.  _

_ “You’re late,” Murdoc says once he opens the door. He considers being more lenient since this was the first time 2D had come his house on his own but they were already twenty minutes behind schedule. _

_ “It’s because I picked this up from the diner right around the corner.” He holds up a half eaten sandwich. “You were right, they make a nice grilled cheese. It smelled so good I had to give it a bite or two. When I told the head cook I was heading over here he told me to tell you ‘hi’ and that ‘he hopes you’re not such a klepto anymore.’ He said you would know what he’s talking about.”  _

_ A part of Murdoc wants to slam the door in his face but he knows they need to practice. They’ve already settled on a few songs titles and began sorting them into cohesive groups. For the first time, the album feels closer than ever. If he had to force down one more meal from there of all places, he could do that so he ushers the singer in anyways. However, it doesn’t make him any less furious. “Of all the places you pick the place that’s a bloody magnet for health inspections and chavs. How brain-damaged are you?” _

_ 2D’s face falls. “But…a few weeks ago you were talking about how much you liked it. You called it a local favorite.” _

_ That was back when he was trying to convince 2D’s parents that they weren’t about to let their son go to a neighborhood filled with dregs of society, where the most famous resident - his father - was notorious for his cons, or that they were about to let their son go into a home that was on the brink of collapse and that he could pick up bed bugs there. The fact that it was a diner that served food was probably the only two truths he had told. He didn’t think 2D would ever remember that conversation let alone pick up a meal for them. Why would he do that?  _

_ “I don’t know what conversation you heard but that place is a fucking plague.” He says as they go up the stairs. “There’s a rumor that the owner has the butcher substitute in dead rats when they don’t have enough of a certain meat. I believe it. And at least half the servers there have some sort of drug problem. Did you notice how drowsy some of them looked? Last time I was there there the hostess was completely slumped over cash register because she was drunk or high or both. The only reason it hasn’t been shut down completely is because it’s cheap and it’s the only place that will employ the locals who in turn, are the only employees able to put up with and serve...the locals.” When he was younger, he used to think the free meals and listening ear was given to him out of kindness. In a different world he might have said she was like a mother to him. It was the first devastating miscalculation he had made.  _

_ 2D looks at the sandwich in his hand, now with less enthusiasm. “Oh.”  _

_ “Don’t be surprised if you find a dead bug in there somewhere.” Thought the thought of eating any of their food makes him ill on a number of levels, Murdoc peers into the takeout container. 2D didn’t buy him anything fancy, just another grilled cheese and some crisps, but it, too, was done out of kindness. He knows that should make him feel grateful or happy but it only evokes that familiar nervous feeling like something terrible was about to happen. It was rare anyone was nice to him for the sake of being nice. His brain can only recognize it as a threat.  _

_ “It’s just that you said ‘diner around the corner’ and that’s the only diner around the corner.” 2D scratches his head. “Where else is there to go? I can’t go in your kitchen and we were working for hours last week. I was starving. I didn’t think it would be that bad.” _

_ “Just forget about it,” Murdoc says. If he tells himself that it’s just some food from Sainsbury he thinks he can do it. He also needs to remember the music. They’re making great music, game-changing music. “I just...really hate the fucking restaurant.” _

_ “I, um, I can see that.” _

_ “And it’s not just the food.” If 2D was going to be over then he would have make some compromises. “There aren’t a lot of good people around here. I’M not a good person.” _

_ “You’re not too bad. You have some annoying house rules and I think it’s a bit odd that you like the devil so much…” 2D glances over to his ‘I heart Satan’ sign as he says this. “But you’re funny, you’ve got a killer record collection and I think you have...a fascinating way of thinking about things.”  _

_ Fascinating. He replays the word over to himself. He would be sure to hold onto that one. _

_ “Yeah, yeah.” Feigning nonchalance, Murdoc turns his attention towards setting up one of 2D’s keyboards he’s been storing in his room. “But I’m being serious.” _

_ “I am too,” 2D says. _

_ “Just don’t ever go back there. They’re all terrible. Maybe I dined and dashed a few times from there back in the day but I had my reasons.” The memory of that day begins to resurface and he promptly pushes it back down.  _

_ “Oh..okay I won’t.” There’s a worry in 2D’s voice that makes him wonder how visibly the distressed he looks right now. Thankfully, the singer doesn’t question him further.  _

_ “Did he say anything else about me?” _

_ “No, not that I can recall.” _

_ “Good.” _

* * *

“Murdoc? Hey, Murdoc.” 2D’s standing right in front of him, incredibly close. He snaps his finger in front of his face a few times.

Murdoc swats his hand away. “What the hell are you doing? Get away.”

“I think you spaced out or something...you were just staring at the wall.”

“Never mind that. What time is it?” 

“It’s uh…” 2D pulls out his phone. “Just a little after five.”

So he hadn’t been out that long. “Okay, so where were we?”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be okay when you tell me what else we have to do.” 

“Okay, yeah, so, the rest of the stuff.” 2D pulls out his journal out of his bag for this. “Uh, there’s probably a few more calls we need to confirm some things about the will and when to movers are going to come and move some of the old furniture into storage. Otherwise we can leave, unless you think we have to go back to the house for anything.”

Murdoc shakes his head. “No.”

“Then we can probably think about when we want to buy our plane tickets.” 2D says this with a shaky smile. “And we can go home.” 

“Home…” he repeats. They were already at that far along which meant he had, at most, the day to figure out what he wanted. Detroit was home to 2D, but for him, there were few outcomes he could foresee that would end well for him. For all he knew, they had already decided to vote him out or at the very least he would be returning to more demands, more rules and more scrutiny. He would have to tell them why he had left. The thought of Russel and Noodle to know about his parent and about the letters makes him sick. They would interrogate him and then they would lecture him and have him apologize for it all over and over again. They would push even harder for him to go to therapy. 

“You don’t seem too excited about that,” 2D remarks, confused. “I thought that’s what you wanted to do- get out of here as quick as possible.”

He hadn’t expected to be having this conversation so quickly. There’s no plan to sneak out of the hotel while 2D slept, no convoluted explanation about why he needs to stay. He’s just stuck and all he can do is stand there. “It is,” he says. Briefly, his eyes dart over to where the couch where letters are sitting. He compares what could be waiting in Detroit to his other plan. “It’s just, er…” He makes his decision. “Well, it’s just that I have an extra stop I want to make before we get into all of that, shouldn’t take too long. You won’t even know I’m gone.” 

2D narrows his eyes suspiciously at him. “Can I come?”

“Really? Why would you want to do that? I haven’t annoyed you enough?”

2D only bears down on him harder. “Murdoc…”

“Ugh. Whatever.” 

* * *

It’s late morning by the time they leave the hotel. Neither of them had ever been the best at time management but, as he sits in the driver’s seat of the car, Murdoc isn’t sure how it took them that long to get going when they weren’t even checking out. Perhaps less had changed since his memory of 2D and the takeout after all. This time he’s waiting for the singer to finish up at the breakfast buffet. 

Sighing, he pulls one of the letters out of his pocket. He had spent some time the previous night trying to arrange as many of the letter in order by date. This proved to be a difficult task as he took great care to only look at the date and not the actual letter. By the end of the first movie 2D watched he had only arranged the first twenty. Before they left the room, he had covertly take the next most recent letter with a different return address out of the box while 2D was in the bathroom. As he waits for him now, he enters the address into his phone. He finishes just as the singer opens the door on the passenger side.

“Do you think we have everything?” 2D hauls a backpack filled with muffins from the breakfast buffet along with an assortment of other unknown items into the front seat with him. 

“We certainly have enough food in there to keep Russel busy for the next year, if that’s what you’re asking,” Murdoc scoffs. There was barely room in the front for 2D’s legs and here he was trying to squeeze in a backpack on top of that. 

“Well, yeah, I brought some snacks but what I was thinking about was you.”

“I’ve been ready with everything I need for the past two hours.”

“Do you have your license?” 2D asks. “Or no, let me change that. Did you ever renew your license?”

Murdoc huffs and starts the car. “I don’t know why that matters. You can’t unlearn driving and no piece of plastic can tell me otherwise.” 

“Actually…” 2D pulls his journal out of the bag. “I recounted during my daily reflection last night and there were, um, five instances where we almost crashed with you driving, and you committed at least fifteen different driving violations.”

“What? I thought that thing was for your feelings, not my driving prowess- which is exceptional. If you don’t recall I was in a bit of a hurry yesterday due to finding out I had been lied to for my entire life, so forgive me if it wasn’t perfect.”

“It is for my feelings. I felt anxious when you were driving so I processed it and what I came up with was this-” he presses a finger to a paragraph on the page to guide himself as he reads, “Murdoc was upset yesterday and drove like a lunatic. He does this a lot and he wasn’t having the best day. Even so, he could have gotten us both killed so it’s worthwhile to express concern for his safety and mine. The assertive communication skill I plan to use to do this is an ‘I-statement.’ I also recognize that I used to teach driving school, so it’s harder for me ignore driving errors.” 

Murdoc closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s taking everything he has not get out the car and pull 2D out.

“Do you want to share how me telling you that made you feel?” 2D says hopefully.

“Hey, faceache, do you remember how I never invited you to come with me today but you insisted until I had no choice but to let you come?”

“Oh...um...yeah?”

“So I don’t want you here! But since you can’t get that through your empty head let me lay it out for you- if you  _ have _ to be here then we’re following my rules and that’s it. Done. Go write about that in your journal.” He shifts the gear into drive. “But since I’m feeling benevolent today, I’ll give you one last chance to get out. Once I start driving, then that’s it.”

2D is silent for a few moments, a pensive expression on his face. For a moment, it’s visible how hard he’s thinking about the ultimatum and how difficult the decision must be for him. Murdoc is struck by his own surprise and tinge of disappointment at this realization.

After some more time, 2D looks up from his book, staring at Murdoc from his seat.

“So...which is it?” Murdoc asks, feeling fidgety under his gaze.

Just like that, the seriousness of 2D’s demeanor moments ago vanishes. “I think I’ll come along,” he says. “I already packed everything and I’m here now so why move? But I’m going to keep this journal.”

“I don’t care about the journal. Just keep it to yourself.”

With message loud and clear, 2D shuts the journal and stores it back in his bag. “I guess this isn’t the best time then.”

“Right.”

“But where exactly are we going? I can I ask that can’t I?” There’s a smidgen of irritation in 2D’s voice.

He’s entered in the address of the psychiatric hospital where his mother stayed for an unknown length of time. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

“We aren’t going on the highway are we?”

“It’s just a quick stop at...a place. It probably won’t be much of anything.” It was so easy to agree to driving around the UK with 2D but to actually verbalize why and what they were doing was near impossible. He tries to pin down the emotion- Was it shame? Or fear of judgment? Fear of pity? He steers the vehicle onto the main road. 

“It isn’t anywhere we could die or anything, right?”

“No, not literally.” Emotionally? Maybe. He knows he can’t withhold the information forever. Whether he wanted to or not his phone would eventually read it out to both of them anyways. “Could you tell me when my next turn is?” He asks. There. 2D could figure it out that way. 

“Sure.” The singer reaches over to his phone and flips through the directions. “You’re going to make a left at the next light. Oh, and don’t forget your blinker.” As Murdoc expects, he doesn’t put the phone down. “So, uh…”

“What?”

“We’re going to a psychiatric hospital?”

“Yeah.”

2D waits for him to keeping going, to add anything else or any other explanation but he can’t. 

“I’m not trying to be annoying but…Why?”

“Just because, well…” He’s getting flustered now. “...Because that’s where we’re going.”

“Okay.” 

Murdoc doesn’t add any further comment and eventually 2D sighs and turns towards the window in quiet resignation. It’s a welcome and, to his chagrin, short-lived silence. Just as he’s about to settle in, 2D abruptly reaches out to the dashboard and flips the radio to dial to ‘on.’ Unfortunately, the same dial also controlled the volume and Murdoc swears he feels the car shake as it’s hit by the sudden wall of sound. 

“ _ You’re listening to 102.1 Light FM and this is the Love Line with Sandra. What’s on your heart? You can talk to me about it. Right now, we have a request from-” _

Murdoc flips the dial back to ‘off’ promptly. “No.”

2D stares at him for a second before asking, “Why?”

“Because I’m the driver.”

“We’ve been driving in silence this entire time. We drove in silence all the entire time we were recording the third record and you were driving all over the place…”

“That was different. It  _ had  _ to be that way so I could listen for bounty hunters, assassins, pirates et cetera; you know, all the people trying to murder us.”

“If I, uh, remember correctly, they were trying to murder  _ you _ .” 2D says. “But even back in the states all we did was listen to our old albums and I’d like to listen to something else.” With that, he turns radio back on and they’re greeted by a Celine Dion ballad blasting through the speakers.

“If you have to have it on we’re not listening to this drivel,” Murdoc yells over the speakers. “I’m not wasting about waste away even seconds of my life taking generic and saccharine love song suggestions from some old bird name Sandra who very likely hasn’t had a shag in decades.”

“I like this song,” 2D says as he turns down the volume. When he gets a clear  look at Murdoc’s expression is he changes his mind and he’s quick to reach for the dial again. “But I’m sure there are a bunch of other stations out there.”

He lands on a classic rock station next, but changes it before Murdoc can hear what song is playing. 

“Wait a second. What’d you change that for?”

“Whenever we listen to that music all you do is brag about how much better a songwriter you are than Paul Mccartney, or how you’re talent on bass is so much bigger than that guy from Led Zepplin, or that one story that we all know is a lie about how you were picked up by The Clash hitchhiking to Liverpool.” 

“No, that one was true.” Or, it wasn’t entirely false. Either way, 2D had made his decision.

“Let try this one,” he says.   


_ “You’re listening to HIT 105.5, you one stop for hits from the 80s, 90s and today.” _

“Ugh, not this manufactured crap.”

“No, I think this will be good,” 2D replies. 

A familiar melody fills the vehicle and Murdoc feels like if he tried hard enough, he could transport himself back to the year 2000. They were just moving into Kong Studios and 2D would pick out songs of hers, among other music artists, on the keyboard late at night after they would get home from the pub and have two person drunken karaoke sessions in his room. Simpler times. 

“ _ This is a story about a girl named, Lucky.” _

2D looks at him with a goofy grin on his face. “Oh I love this one. Do you remember how we almost sat next to her at the MTV VMAs that following year?”

“I remember being offended at how flagrantly her music was rooted in the same conventional, bubblegum sound all chart toppers were mimicking. I remember being hounded by her music all through recording our first record. You couldn’t escape it. I swear, you could be in the bloody morgue and you would  _ still  _ hear that ‘hit me baby one more time.’” He raises the pitch in his voice in a mock version of the line.

2D laughs. “You seemed to like it well enough back then. That sounds exactly like how you used to try to sing it when we would get back late after a night out and I would try to play the piano without falling over.” He chuckles. “Remember that? That was pretty funny.”

“First of all, I was shitfaced out of my mind. Second, it’s called being ironic.”

“I always thought she would be nice to go out with. The year at the VMAs I was hoping to talk to her as a fellow artist from a small town and maybe go on a picnic to a local fair.” 2D sighs, clearly engrossed in his own daydream. “I always liked this record, too. Some of her songs say the same thing as ours.”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “How much pain medicine did you take today?”

“I’m beings serious.” He motions towards the speakers. “Listen to how it goes.”

“You’re an idiot.” 

His word have no effect on 2D. Instead, he simply sings along with the radio. “ _ She's so lucky, she's a star, but she cry, cry, cries in her lonely heart, thinking, if there's nothing missing in my life then why do these tears come at night? _ ”

Murdoc grips the steering wheel tighter.

“It’s a pop song but you can still hear the isolation. You know? Like,  _ can’t stand your loneliness _ .”

“It’s a song about a rich girl who’s sad because she wins at everything. Sounds completely unrealistic, unrelatable and most certainly NOTHING like our music.” Maybe 2D was right, but in Murdoc’s mind, he didn’t want to think he or anyone else in the band shared anything in common with a celebrity who later succumbed to her personal demons to the point of having a public breakdown.

“ _ She is so lucky, but why does she cry? _ ” 2D starts singing again. “ _ But why does she cry? If there is nothing missing in my life, why do tears come at night? And they say- _ ” Midline, he’s cut off by Murdoc switching the radio off. “Oh, come on.”

“I hate this.”

“Well it’s not the Britney Spears channel, they play hits from the 80s, 90s, and today.” Defiant, 2D turns the radio back on for the second time that day.  “See? Oh this is another good one- Ricky Martin. This one takes me back to our first tour, when you first starting putting eggs in the microwave.”

This time, Murdoc can’t stop a small grin from creeping onto his face. “I don’t know why you all kept saying I did that.” 

“Because you did.”

“Okay, fine. But you can’t tell me it wasn’t hilarious.”

“We bought Noodle that one album of his for her birthday that one year and she listened to it once. Then I found it in the trashcan.”

“Yeah, thank god.”

They continue this way for the rest of the drive. Occasionally, 2D sings along to entire songs and other times he recounts an anecdote. He only pauses to make the final phone calls to the moving company and some legal office about his father’s will. Murdoc doesn’t care about this. He had read it out of curiosity and it only confirmed everything he had already predicted- all assets went to his brother, nothing for him. He didn’t want anything in that house anyways, and he certainly wasn’t going to pay off the rest of the money his father owed on the house itself. His brother would have to manage with what was left. 

2d is in the middle of fumbling his way through a Sean Paul song when Murdoc’s phone notifies them that their destination is “on their left.”

“Why didn’t it say that five miles ago before I moved into the fast lane?” Murdoc grumbles. He would have to make a few extras turns now, and he can’t decide whether he’s grateful for the extra few minutes of delay or not. Once again, he find himself in a state of unease over not know what he want. He had not planned anything besides arriving. He still doesn’t know what he’s going to say or what he’s going to find or what he wants to find. 

“Is that it? It looks closed.” 2D’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

The building is obscured by forest but he can still see the red brick out of the corner of his eye as they pass. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We haven’t even parked.” There was no way his phone would take them to an address that no longer existed. 

Once he reaches the next intersection he makes a sharp u-turn across three lanes of traffic.

“Traffic violation. Reckless driving, unsafe lane changing,” 2D says peeking between his fingers. 

“She just told me to ‘make a u-turn.’ Are you telling me I shouldn’t have listened to her?”

“Yes. That one truck you just cut off gave me the finger.”

It doesn’t take them long to get to the turn the missed after that. It’s a long driveway with patches of weeds and dandelion pokings through the cracks in the cement. It doesn’t look like the premises have been well kept in years. Still, Murdoc hopes.

Finally, he reaches the main parking lot. The building is in clear view now and the first thing he notices is the bold, “FOR RENT” posted on the wooden doors. It doesn’t look like any living person had occupied the space in years, the plants on the verge of overtaking the building entirely. He imagines that in the past it must have been a beautiful location. 

He parks the care directly in front of the main doors. Maybe there was still a chance that there was a phone number he could call,  _ something. _ There was no way he had made such an effort only to find nothing. That wasn’t how it was supposed to work. Frustrated, he checks the address in his phone and pulls the crumpled envelope out of his pocket. Not caring whether 2D sees, he holds up the return address on the envelope next to the address on the on the phone. They’re exactly the same.

“You know, forget what I said earlier. Sometimes people forget to mow the lawn for a few weeks and it looks like no one lives there but they do,” 2D suggests. 

Murdoc shoots him an exasperated look and gets out of the car. He goes directly to the doors and pulls, only to have them not budge. He walks over to the window next, cursing as he wades through a sea of prickly bushes to get a look inside. To his side, 2D knocks on the door. 

“Don’t bother,” he says. All he sees are empty rooms and broken floorboards. “Obviously, no one’s given this place a second in the last century. There’s nothing.”

“What..well, what exactly were you looking for?”

Murdoc pushes himself away from the window. “Didn’t you see enough in the car?” He doesn’t want to have to spell it out so he pulls the letter out of his pocket. “Look.”

“That’s one of your mum’s letters.”

“Yeah. So put two and two together. Can you do that?”

“This was the address you saw. One of the at least.”

Murdoc gives him a small nod as he begins to pull carious thorns and burrs off of his pants. “And the bloody Google maps still took us here. I thought they had to update those.”

2D walks over to him and reaches his hand out. “Can I see it? The phone, I mean.”

“Whatever,” Murdoc says as he hands the phone over.

2D examines it for a brief moment. “This was a psychiatric hospital.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“ _ Was _ a psychiatric hospital,” 2D repeats. “It says here it closed over twenty years ago. There are also all these results linking to haunted house websites and lists it as haunted.” He shrugs. “It looks like people still like to visit even though it's abandoned. That sort of thing happens sometimes. I guess you’re mum worked as a nurse or something. That’s pretty neat.”

_ Stupid, stupid. Stupid idea, stupid plan. You’re so stupid _ . Murdoc can only glare at him before looking off in the direction of the drive way. For awhile, all they can hear is the distant sound of the cars on the highway and the rustle of the leave as squirrels dart from tree to tree. “She wasn’t an employee. She was crazy. I thought I told you that,” he says. “She was writing me as a patient and I can only imagine the amount of insanity packed into all these things.” 

“Why do you think that? She sounded so nice in the other one.”

“It’s what my dad said. And my brother said something about him calling the feds about something when I first arrived. What you think they called them for? To have tea?”

“But you don’t know for sure.” 2D says, gulping. “I may not know that much about him but you’re going by what your dad told you and he already lied to you about all of this.”

Murdoc doesn’t reply and crosses his arms stubbornly. His father is the last topic he want on his mind even if there are good intentions behind 2D’s words. There had already been enough holes poked into the story he had grown up believing, he doesn’t know how much more he can withstand. Still, as much as he hates to admit it to himself, 2D’s words only multiply the amount of ‘what if’ questions. What if his mother loved him all this time? What if she was still alive?

“Anyhow,” 2D says after awhile. “I’m sorry you this didn’t pan out the way you planned it.” He hesitates for a few moments before adding. “I guess we should think about our tickets home.”

“I’m not going back there,” Murdoc blurts out. 

“What do you mean?” There’s trepidation in his voice. 

“Exactly what I said. I’m not going back,” Murdoc says with more resolve. “...right now at least,” he adds. 

2D blinks. “I..I don’t think I understand.”

Murdoc sighs. That much was obvious enough. “I didn’t find anything here, but this was just one address. I haven’t been able to count an exact number but there have to be at least ten separate addresses left. And…” He hesitates, unsure if he’s ready to hear himself say it out loud. “And I want to know more.”

“Why don’t you just read them?”

“I can’t. I can’t do that...to just sit there and read them, and then all I can do is  _ think _ about them.” It was difficult enough for him to stay level-headed when he was on his own on a daily basis without his mother’s writing in his head. Sure, there was a chance that they would be benign and loving like the first one but then there was also a chance, a greater chance he feared, that they would confirm that she was unstable or that she hated him. Somehow, having the direct experience seemed less intimidating. He would see where she lived, worked, existed. Maybe he would learn more or talk to someone who knew her, or maybe he wouldn’t. “...But I can go there, or wherever it is that’s next.”

2D is visibly at a loss for words. 

“Maybe I’ll read them all the way through one day but-”

“....What about Noodle? Russel? You disappeared on them, on  _ us, _ and didn’t tell us anything. And we would have all still been sitting there wondering where you were if I hadn’t come out here.”

“ _ BUT _ , right now, there’s only one way I can investigate. There are answers in those boxes, answers that I've never gotten the chance to...I don't know.” 

“And we can all help, Muds,” 2D insists. “We can read them together, when you’re ready of course, and then we could go on to wherever you want. Just  _ please _ don’t do this before we go back-”

“I’m not happy there, Stu!” 2D jumps ever so slightly at the mention of his name. Murdoc’s more shocked at the desperation in his own voice. He wipes his brow nervously. “There. There you have it, I said it and I mean it. I’m not happy spending every day waking up, having breakfast, going to the grocery store.”

“Those are thing normal people do. And you’re saying they don’t make you happy. Are...are you trying to say you want to quit?”

“No! Never.” He would never permanently leave the band. That was the light years away from the point he was trying to make. “But we aren’t a band right now, we aren't doing band things! And I can quite literally feel the screws in my head unwinding just thinking about all those days wasting away doing absolutely nothing.” 

“Well, there’s also the therapy part of it that you’re leaving out. You know, therapy that’s supposed to be helping us be a band...”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about. You lot think that all it’s going to take is that one special thing and then, tada! I’m going to fixed. ‘Just go to therapy and it’ll all be better,’ or ‘just try this new prescription.’ This time I bet you thought, ‘oh hey, his dad died, now it’s all better.’ Well you know what? It  _ isn’t  _ and I’m not about to willingly go back to a place where I’m sure to be doomed to indefinite castigation or that stupid vote you mentioned.” 

“All we’re doing is trying.” The singer says, a blend if fatigue and anger in his voice. “You act like we can’t see that- that you’re not happy. It’s been over fifteen years of this and still all you do is hole up in your room or run away. And that gets incredibly frustrating- did you know that? You think it isn’t frustrating when we see you answer fan questions in more detail than you do ours? We want the same thing- to be a band and we want to help you... _ I _ want to help you.”

Murdoc looks back over at the abandoned building, it’s boarded up windows and vine covered walls. But amidst the overgrown foliage and cracked doors and caved in roof, the red of the brick was still as vibrant as ever. “Well, you can’t. I have to help me.” He thinks back to  his younger self. The reality was that he had always been searching for her in his own way, even when he didn’t know he was looking. He hadn’t found her at home, he sure as hell hadn’t found her in any of the other adult figures he made the mistake of becoming close to. “And I know that never works out but that’s how it’s always been, and right now the help for me isn’t here and it’s absolutely not in Detroit.” He clutches his mother’s letter to him clutched in his hand a little tighter. It had been a lifelong search and now, finally, he had a map. ”So I’m going to go where I think that is.” He meets the others gaze with a steady resolve.

This time, it’s 2D’s turn to shift his gaze to the building, as if he’s looking for whatever Murdoc saw in it moments ago. Murdoc watches him as he looks from the building to down at his feet. By the time he’s looking him in the eye again, he sees the same level of determination looking back at him. “Alright then,” he says. “Where’s our next stop?”

The response triggers a new wave of confused emotions in him. A part of him wants to laugh and another feels like it wants to start bawling right there. If there was one quality in 2D that he could always depend on, it was honesty. He remembers their conversation in the parking lot.  _ This time, you also have me _ . He still doesn’t know exactly what’s possessed 2D to want to follow him around like this, or what sort of risk he’s putting them at, but for now, he can’t bring himself to argue with him or the unfamiliar yet overwhelmingly warm feeling it brings him. “You know I don’t have this thing planned out,” he says in a half-hearted attempt to dissuade him.

“Do you ever?” 2D replies with a smirk. 

“Touché.” Murdoc takes one last look at the abandoned hospital. “Next stop: London. “

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this was a play this part would be like the end of act one (act one of...three?)
> 
> I know I say this every time but like, any thoughts, comments, concerns etc. mean the world to me and help with motivation and insight. Thank to everyone who's taken the time, I really appreciate it. 
> 
> Also: I'm not skipping over what the letters say. Murdoc's always struck me as more of an experiential type (recently quoted saying his life motto was "live it") so this is how their trips are starting. Additionally, I haven't forgotten about Russel or Noodle- they'll each have a role to play too!
> 
> Hope everyone had a great holiday! Or great couple of days if you didn't celebrate <3


	6. Chapter 6

Starting when he was around twelve, Murdoc would to daydream about running away to London. He had a variety of escape scenarios at that age, but the London one was always special because it was the one daydream that actually felt possible. Not a day would go by that he didn’t consider catching the commuter train to London located one stop over from the train he would take to school. Maybe he could get a job at a pub with a music venue and try to pitch some of his music there, or maybe he could make a living busking on the street until some famous person hear him and signed him to a label (because after all, unlike Stoke, important people went to London). 

He went so far as to try it once, and school made his absence known promptly. Unfortunately for him, one of his neighbors saw him leave and he was tracked down within the same day. His father, who had never once expressed any concern or interest over his academics, his behavior, or his attendance, did his best to make him regret it. He missed the following three days “regretting” it. When the entire ordeal was over, Murdoc didn’t try to run away anymore. 

A brief glance in his rearview mirror tells him he’s clear to swerve into the fast lane.

He was free to run away from whatever he wanted to now. Perhaps that was why, as an adult, he was so quick to take advantage of that option.

The view of London skyline from the highway leaves him with mixed feelings. In his climb to fame it represented the first foothold. It was where, for the first time, an important person heard his music, where Gorillaz was signed to a label. In a sense, it was his childhood daydream fulfilled and the city would always hold a special place in his heart for that. However, when he sees the clouds and all the gray he wonders why he ever thought it was all that different from Stoke. Then again, everything feels gray to him these days.

_ “My dear Murdoc, _

_ Today is your first birthday! I’m sorry that this letter won’t get to you in time for the celebration. They don’t give us a lot of free time here but know that I’m with you in spirit. Sebastian tells me he has been reading all of my notes to you as they arrive. I know you might not understand right now, I’m glad. I want you to know that I’m always thinking of you, even when I’m not there. Your father had promised me that we’re going to work on things so that we can be a family, and he tells me he wants to bring you for a visit this weekend. It’s so much different from home but it’s beautiful here, and it’s given me the peace of mind to reflect on everything that happened. I feel terrible that I put you through that but my psychiatrist is helping me learn to forgive myself and your father. I should be ready for discharge within the next week or week after, so I’ll be with you soon.  _

_ Much love, Mommy” _

2D rests the letter in his lap. “Aw.”

“Put that away,” Murdoc grumbles. They left the abandoned psychiatric hospital yesterday. There was no reason for 2D to be revisiting the experience. “You’re lucky I care so much about our safety and I’m going to focus on driving right now.”

The other disregards him. “Well, first you said no radio.”

“I didn’t say no radio. I said we could take turns deciding what to play in the car. It’s my turn now and I chose silence.”

“Then you said no journal,” 2D continues. “But that was only  _ my  _ journal. You didn’t say anything about your mum’s.” 

“Because I thought you would have the decency to know that those letters are mine and you have no business looking at them unless I say it’s okay.” Inside, trying to picture his father taking him anywhere or telling another living human that he wants to be a “family.” The image is so absurd that he almost begins to laugh. Somehow, though, that was what his mother had believed. In some ways, Murdoc thinks he wants to believe that too. He wants to believe she got to hold him more than just in that picture he has of her. “There are laws about that, you know, opening someone elses mail.”

“What am I supposed to do? You don’t ever want to talk about anything.” 

“You’re a full grown adult. I shouldn’t even have to answer that. Why don’t you check on, oh, I don’t know. Check to see if the furniture from my father’s house of horrors made it to storage, or check to see if the hotel you booked can check us in, anything else, really.”

“Do you want to know her name?” 2D asks. 

“Her name?”

“Your mum’s. It’s on the envelope here but I haven’t heard you mention it.” 

“Do you have to do this while I’m driving?” It was no longer his room he had to worry about 2D barging into without asking, it was every other aspect of his life now. In the background, his phone informs them that their destination is off of the next exit.

“Maybe when we get there then.”

They arrive within the next half hour. The hotel is nicer than the one in Stoke with a cleaner lobby and larger rooms. They even allow Murdoc to park in the back so that he and 2D can go to their room without having to go check in at the desk.

Once they unlock the door, Murdoc is quick to place his bags on the bed closest to the window.

“Hey I thought we said I’d get the window,” 2D protests.

“Maybe you should have thought of that before you insisted we share a room.” It was yet another 2D mystery. The singer told him sharing the room would make it easier to stick together and stay out of the public eye, and that it would also save them money. Murdoc had a feeling that the real reason was because 2D was worried that he would run off again. He doesn’t know why the singer would have this worry. It would be so easy for him to simply alert the rest of the band and find him, but he doesn’t ask and he doesn’t put up much of a fight against the request. What he does intend to do is every petty thing he can think of. This includes taking the bed by the window. 

“Whatever.” 2D drops his things down in the middle of the hallways just beyond the entrance. “So, when did you want to go to the next address? We still have a good part of the day…”

Murdoc gazes out the window, a pensive look on his face. He had never embarked on a trip so personal, he had never allowed anyone to be so near him going through something so personal. Closing his eyes, he tries to pretend he’s in the hotel room alone, talking to himself. “That’s one thing you’ve gotten right today.” He sighs, looking over to his suitcase. “Before we go I’m going to need to get some things out.”

As he kneels down beside his bed and unzips the bag, 2D watches him with a curious look on his face. “What, you mean besides the letter?”

Murdoc digs around until his hand lands on the familiar feeling of leather and pulls it out from where it’s been buried in clothing. “I don’t know what you would call these. Mementos from a distant past?”   


“It’s a wallet.” 2D sounds disappointed.

“Not just a wallet, stupid.” Murdoc opens it up to reveal an assortment of crumpled paper and throws it on the bed. “Some of this could help. I don’t know, haven’t looked at this mess in decades.” They were old school pictures, a piece of paper with the first song he ever wrote, an old eviction notice he has saved for a reason he was forgetting. What was most important was the tattered picture of him as a baby with the woman he could presume was his mother. Then there were some other scraps the contents of which he can’t recall. Finally, there were the remains of the money he had been stored years ago when he was planning to move out. “There’s a lot you can keep in a wallet.”

2D almost pounces on the pile from where he was standing. “Oh neat, pictures of you.” Immediately, his hand reaches for the picture of Murdoc and his mother. “You still have this one. I haven’t seen it since that one time. You look so cute. And pudgy. You’re mum looks nice.”

“Don’t push it.” Murdoch rolls his eyes. “And what are you even saying, she doesn’t have a head. For all I know it could be the Queen or some homeless woman.”

“Maybe we’ll find the other half, or we can find who took the picture.” 2D looks over to the other pictures. “This is you in your school uniform. Year one, year two, year three.” He smiles at them with a tenderness that takes Murdoc off guard. “These are all…very you.”

“Of course they’re me.”

“Always frowning. Oh, but here it looks like you were putting in the effort.” 2D laughs.

“The photographers never knew when to shut the fuck up. It was always ‘let’s see that smile’ or ‘you’re family would be so upset to see sad face’ as if my dad was ever sober enough to notice.”   


“You’re eye looks a little swollen in this one.”

With haste, Murdoc gathers the pictures together abruptly.

“Wait, I wasn’t finished looking at those.”

“Well, last I heard we weren’t here to scrapbook. We’ve got places to be.”

* * *

 

_ After a few minutes of stalling, Murdoc  doggedly takes a bite out of the grilled cheese sandwich. If he didn’t eat it, his father would assume he had bought it with funds he was supposed to be contributing exclusively to rent and he would be charged a “fee.” What that fee would be was a mystery, but his father had never been known for his fairness or mercy so he doesn't want to risk it. The nausea grows in intensity with each passing second he spends chewing. He winces. _

_ “That bad, huh?” 2D say from behind his seat at his keyboard. He sounds hurt. “I dunno. I think it tastes pretty good.” _

_ “What do you know about high quality food? How many dinners did we spend at your place eating that over-salted chicken pot pie again?” _

_ “That’s my nan’s recipe you’re bad mouthing.” 2D looks around his room. _

_ “What?” Murdoc asks, unsure of what exactly he’s trying to find. _

_ “I dunno, it’s just…you’ve really made this room your own. Overtime I come over I always think, ‘wow, this is Murdoc’s room, no way it could be anyone else, it’s all Murdoc.’” _

_ “Okay…”  He changes his tactic with the sandwich and rather than put it off, begins to take inordinately large bites out it. The quicker it’s gone, the better. _

_ “What I’m saying is, we don’t do much besides writing songs together but, I feel like I’m learning a lot about you...even if you don’t tell me everything. And there’s a lot more to learn, but there are so many rules...which is weird because I also think of you more as a rule-breaker. You don’t allow a lot of people up here, do you?” _

_ The next bite he takes is particularly cheesy. Murdoch retches. _

_ “I take that as a ‘no.’”  2D presses a few buttons on the keyboard. “Are you alright?” He plays a few chords. “You don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.” _

_ He glares at him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He forces the rest of the crust into his mouth, and then tries to think of anything other than what he just ate. _

_ 2D continues to stare at him with a sad expression, but he seems to have understood the message this time, and doesn’t say anything. _

_ Relieved, Murdoc takes a final gulp of food. He waits until he’s sure the food is staying down and asks, “Okay so where did we leave off from last week?” _

_ “We were working on the one about the money.” _

_ “Very descriptive.” _

_ “Did we want to go, ‘it’s the money or rot’ or ‘money before thought’ or ‘is the money enough?’ What are we trying to say again?” _

_ “The trick is to not really say much of anything. The less you say, the more the public will read into. You’ll get the critics saying one things, the music geeks saying another, the parents will try to censor and we get the publicity and platform to continue blather on about complete rubbish to keep the cycle going forever.” _

_ “I don’t get it.” _

_ “Good. That means we’re headed in the right direction.”  _

_ 2D thinks about this for a moment. “I also was thinking, what if we sped it up a little like this.” He plays out a series of chords. It’s a bouncy and energetic arrangement. Murdoc thinks it sounds completely wrong.  _

_ “You’re getting it all mixed up. What do you think of when you think of money?” _

_ “I think about how blew twenty quid trying to win this stuffed duck at my dad’s fairground. It’s hard to aim those water guns.”  _

_ Murdoc slaps a palm to his forehead and, in a moment of impulsivity, leans down and gives the rug on his floor a sharp tug in his direction until enough of the bare floor underneath is revealed. “I want to show you something.” He ushers him over. “Come take a look at this.”  _

_ This piques 2D’s interest.  _

_ “You know how I always tell you to watch the floorboards? Well, over time I’ve come to use them to my advantage,” Murdoc says as he feels around the floor until he finds the board that gives in to his weight. It briefly crosses his mind that he’s never shown anyone this part of his room, but he tells himself it’s for the benefit of the music. He pulls up the floorboard to reveal a shoe box. _

_ “Wow.” The wonder in 2D’s voice sounds genuine. “What am I looking at?” _

_ “Money,” Murdoc says. “It’s my secret fund, and it’s going to get me out- I mean, get our band off the ground.”  _

_ “Cool!”  _

_ “But my point is, you don’t just get this much out of nowhere. It’s a long, slow build. And with what we’re working on now, we’re presenting an ultimatum- it’s the money or some other fate. The arrangement should reflect that uncertainty and just how long it all could take. It needs to sound fuzzier and slower.” _

_ 2D nods. “Oh, so you DO know what you want to talk about.” He pauses, oblivious to Murdoc’s glaring. “So...how much do you have in there?” _

_ Without hesitation, Murdoc rips the top off the shoebox. His pride is short lived, however, when he hear 2D’s comment.  _

_ “Yeah, it does look like you have a long way to go.” _

_ Murdoc looks down and his stomach sinks in horror and shock. There’s nothing there except for a few coins. When he had counted days earlier, he had almost had enough for his own apartment in that box, it had been filled to the brim with money. Now, after over a year of saving, it was empty and he didn’t know why or how. No one knew about that box but him though clearly that wasn’t the case. “No,” is all he can say and it comes out small and broken.  _

* * *

The address directs them to a market in south London. Vendors block the street Murdoc is supposed to turn onto so instead, he makes a sharp turn into an alley and slams on the breaks.

“You’re going to break the car if you keep doing stuff like that you know,” 2D comments. “You need to wear your glasses.”

“Those are just reading glasses. I can see perfectly fine.” Besides, they make him feel old. 

“And this doesn’t look like a parking lot. We’re going to get a fine if we leave the car here.” 

Murdoc gestures in the direction of the market. He can’t see all the vendors from where they are, but what he can see is a toothless old man trying to pass off pieces of scrap metal as priceless jewelry and a pair of customers fighting over some cheap looking graphic t-shirts. “Have you had a look at where we are? Do you think any of this lot cares?”

But 2D is stands firm. “I don’t want this to turn into another episode where we spend the entire trip outrunning law enforcement and having strangers shoot at us.”

“Knowing my luck so far, we’re only going to be here for a few minutes anyways,” Murdoc says as he exits the car. 

2D shrugs and grabs a navy blue Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap from the back seat. He puts it on and asks, “Can you recognize me?”

“Of course I can recognize you. What, do you think that’s fooling anyone?”

2D looks confused. “Well, yeah. I would never actually wear this. This is Russel’s. Do you remember that time he went on about how the Dodgers is the ‘real’ New York team? Anyhow, I knicked from his room before I left...hope he doesn’t mind. It's for a good cause - helping us stay secretive, like you said.”

Murdoc has, to put it kindly, constructive criticism for him but they don’t have time for that. There’s a real objective they have to achieve. “How much would you bet that this next place is all boarded up too?”

“I guess we won’t know until we look. You have the letter?”

Murdoc nods. They make their way into the crowd. The people are loud and brusque and besides the vivid colors of various clothing, the streets and vendors are dull and grey. He scrunches his nose at the potent smell of sewage and smoke from the food trucks. It wasn’t the nicest market he’s ever been to, that was probably the least harsh thing he could think at the moment. 

He glances at his phone screen to make sure they’re walking in the right direction. 

“We should get an early dinner here. I haven’t had a good pasty in ages.” 2D is gazing around the market in wonder as if he’s just discovered a secret society.

“We aren’t going to find a ‘good’ anything here...unless your idea of ‘good’ is food poisoning or salmonella.” His phone pings that that they’ve reached their destination and he immediately stops. 

2D doesn’t get the memo and walks right into him. The impact is enough to send him stumbling forward, and in response he turns around and gives him a good shove in return. “Watch where you’re bloody going you clumsy-”

“No,  _ you _ watch where  _ you’re _ stopping,” 2D interrupts him. “We’re in the middle of the street!” For a second, it looks like he’s about to move to push him back but instead he limits his response to an icy glare. As it if to prove his point, Murdoc is bumped again by another customer walking in the opposite direction. 

  
“Arse,” is all Murdoc mutters out of earshot. If he wasn’t so focused on their destination he might have made more of a scene. As it stands, their need to keep a low profile outweighed his need to have the last word. 

“See what I’m saying?” 2D asks, less annoyed now. Then the reason Murdoc stopped in the first place dawns on him. “Wait...is...is this it?” he asks. 

Murdoc looks at the house. “Yeah.” It doesn’t look particularly and he could have easily convinced himself he was still in Stoke from the uniform, clay colored bricks and blank, square windows. That’s what he had hated the most about his old neighborhood- the lack of character, like they were built to be forgettable. However, there’s an important difference between this house and his own. It appears someone lives there. 

2D darts ahead of him, a little too enthusiastic for Murdoc’s comfort. “We should knock.”

His sudden movement snaps Murdoc out of his thoughts. “Wait…” he calls after him, but the singer doesn’t hear him. Or if he does, he’s ignoring him and leaving Murdoc with no choice but to follow him. He makes it to the door and is about to knock when they hear a voice behind them.

“Oi, over here.” It’s an elderly woman. She’s seated in a plastic chair beside her own display, and assortment of old coins, coloring books and canned food. “The homeowner’s right here.” 

“Hello.” 2D waves. “I’m 2-” he’s interrupted by a sharp elbow from Murdoc. “I mean, um, I’m….” He stares off into space as he thinks. “...Bob.”

“What do you want, Bob? Is this about the rent? I just paid that yesterday.” 

2D looks at Murdoc, silently asking permission to proceed. It isn’t his preference, but the shock of actually speaking to a person who may have known his mother is causing his mind to blank. Begrudgingly, he reaches in his pocket and thrusts the letter into 2D’s hand and stays behind him, listening but not making eye contact. 

“Can I say it?” 2D whispers.

“Say what?”

“Her name.” 

Murdoc tenses. Right, there was that. “No, you have to mime it,” he says, not even bothering to hide his sarcasm. When he sees 2D staring at him like he’s taking the request seriously he adds, “Don’t just stand there. Go on, spit it out.”

“Do you know a…” 2D holds the letter up to his face and sounds the name out at a comedically slow rate. “Rufina de la Fuente?”

_ Rufina de la Fuente _ , Murdoc repeats that name in his mind, heart rate speeding up. That was her name. He knew his mother’s name. And that was from where? Spain? South America? That was his mother. That was  _ him. _ “Your accent is shit,” he comments, trying to play it off but it comes out as a half-whisper. He isn’t sure 2D even hears him. 

The old woman leans forward. “A who?”

“Rufina de la Fuente” 2D repeats, a little bit faster this time. “Um, she, uh lived here in 1967, perhaps longer. Maybe you were roommates? Not that you look old or anything. You look really young.”

“Ah, Rufina,” she says thoughtfully. “I haven’t heard that name in decades.”

From behind 2D, Murdoc freezes. 

“Wait, really?” 2D blurts out in surprise. “Wow...um, okay I didn’t...I wasn’t expecting that...that you would have any idea what I talking about. Wow. Okay. So, uh what do you know about her?”

“What does it matter to you?”

“We’re, um…” 2D looks back at Murdoc again. He doesn’t say anything out loud but Murdoc can read the uncertainty on his face asking him what the next move should be. In the throes of processing his emotions, all he can do is stare back. “We’re looking for her?” the singer asks. 

“If you want to know, you’ve got to buy,” the woman says bluntly. “Take your pick.”

Murdoc frowns at the request. There wasn’t anything on that table he thinks is worth a single pence. Surely, 2D wouldn’t see such a barter as reasonable.

“We’ll take the beans,” 2D says, pointing to the canned beans. He glances back at Murdoc and shrugs. “For breakfast.” He uses his own money to pay for the food, and as the woman hands him three cans in bag he asks, “So, uh, will you answer our questions now?”

“Let me see that.” She motions towards the letter.

Hesitant, 2D hands it over and Murdoc draws in a sharp breath. 

She studies the piece of paper intently and silently. “Ah, yes. She was miserable.”

“Miserable?” 2D asks. “How do you mean?”

“I didn’t know much about her. She did odd jobs around the house for my parents in return for room and board. On market days, she would play around with these cards and read people’s fortunes. Maybe it was a crock of shit but it brought in a lot of customers.”

“But what makes you say she was miserable?”

“She was always talking about how once she had enough, she was never coming back here again.”

In the background, Murdoc perks up. That sounded familiar.  _ She probably didn’t have to deal with an angry drunk stealing her saving for some extra alcohol though. _    


“And always disparaging the area, calling it cold, grey and ugly,” the woman continues. “But with the salary she was getting we had to listen to that moping for a longer than we wanted. She made good on her word though, and the second she made her goal she quit without notice. We never saw her again. Good riddance, I say, even though I miss the extra income.”

“Did she uh, say anything about where she came from? Or where she was going?”

“Just ‘home.’ And my mum wasn’t too keen on digging into our employee’s business, and we had a lot of them in those days. I didn’t have a clue she had a son she was writing, but now that I do know, it makes sense. We only knew she had a work visa that wasn’t going to work out.” 

Murdoc crosses his arms. So she hadn’t even mentioned him to anyone and, from how it was beginning to sound, didn’t have any intention to take him with her. It was just like his father has said.

“But… what was she  _ like _ ?” Clearly, 2D wasn’t going to give up that easily. “What was her favorite, um, color? Or food?”

“How should I know? I knew her a few months, that’s it. I never held a full conversation with her. And why do you care? She wasn’t anyone important.” The old woman squints in Murdoc’s direction. “You.”

He fidgets slightly at the brusque address. “What?” He glares back but his heart is pounding all the same. 

“You’re the son.” 

2D looks over to him frantically. “Uhhhh.”

“It’s been decade but it’s like she’s standing right in front of me now, stewing there, trying to say ‘don’t mess with me’ without saying anything, but her eyes always gave her away. We always knew when she was in a bad mood.” She studies him but unlike 2D’s gentle, dozy gaze, it feels threatening. “And you, you have her eyes and you’re not fooling anyone. You’re about to shit your pants.” 

“Oh yeah?” Murdoc clenches his fist. “You…” But the words won’t come. “You…”

“You’ve done a lot to help us,” 2D cuts in. He shoots Murdoc a nervous look before whispering, “The picture. Could I show her the picture? You can know now.”

Murdoc doesn’t want to be there any longer. So she did leave him. How could she do that? He can’t stop the thoughts from repeating over and over.

“We have a photo,” 2D says reaching tentatively for Murdoc’s jacket pocket. He stops short of touching him. “It’s, um, it’s right in here…Muds?” 

He doesn’t want to show her the picture. 2D was the only person outside of his family who had seen that picture and he doesn’t want her to know such a personal, secret part of him. If it was just him, he would have cursed at her and left. But it isn’t just him, and 2D sounds so earnest. Murdoc is skeptical but he wants to trust him. He pulls the picture out. 

2D takes the photo and hands it to the woman. “This is a picture of her..or…we think it’s a picture of her. The top part got ripped off.”

The woman examines it carefully. “That’s her dress. She wore that around everywhere.”

“Really?” 2D’s face brightens. “You hear that, Muds?” When he turns this time, he only sees empty space.

Murdoc does hear, but he can’t listen to any more. Instead he pushes through the crowd frantically looking for the alley where they parked.

In the distance he can hear 2D calling for him. He doesn’t slow down. 

He finds the car shortly after. Once inside, he sends a text to the singer telling him where he is and waits. In the distance, the crowd moves through the streets. He was doing the same only an hour earlier. Strange, he thinks, how quickly the atmosphere changed from mildly annoying to unbearably suffocating. 

Outside, 2D taps on the window, mouthing that the door is locked. Murdoc flashes him an annoyed look and unlocks the door.

“She recognized me,” the singer says as he hefts a large bag of stuff into the back seat. “She said, ‘aren’t you that lead singer of that band?’ I had to buy a little more than I planned to convince her not to say anything. Um, we’ll have a lot of beans from now on. That’s nice, I guess.” He takes off his hat. “...But I don’t think this disguise thing is working very well.”

“Just get in.” 

“Why’d you leave?” 2D asks, head now poking in the passenger side. “She’s still willing to talk to us. Did you hear what she was saying about the photo? It really is your mum, Muds. And it sounds like she’s Spanish or something, so that means  _ you’re _ Spanish...or something.”

“So?” There’s a lump in his throat that he tries to swallow down. “From the sound of it, she left and after that, I ceased to exist to her. What more is there to know?”

“You don’t know that,” 2D argues. “That lady said so herself, they never asked. We just found out so much.”

“She did exactly what he said she did- she left me.” His voice cracks. “I’ve finally done it and gone completely fucking mental, haven’t I? This is by far the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

“How could you think that?” There’s veritable hurt in 2D’s voice. “We still have a whole box of letters she wrote you. She never forgot you.”

Murdoc starts the car. “I’m leaving. If you want to stay you can get an Uber. Have at it.”

“No, I’m coming,” 2D says as he gets in the passenger side. “And...I don’t think this is stupid. This...this is probably the one thing you’ve decided to do that actually makes some sort of sense. It’s good.” He lets the last sentence hang there before adding, “Muds, it was just one letter and that lady was only one person...”

“It doesn’t fucking matter. It took me three decades to get myself out of that place, and she was the one who dumped me there.” He could have died. It’s a morbid thought, but it was true. It could have happened after he tried to run away that one time or at the pub where his father always forced him to perform. There were enough sketchy people in his neighborhood that it could have happened while he walked home from school one day. There were times in his early teens when he considered doing it himself. He could have given up and wasted away in that neighborhood. But he hadn’t. What had she done to help other that leave him there and hope for the best? Did she think some words on a page would change things for him? 

“I don’t know what your dad told you.” 2D says. “Or your brother, or how often they repeated it. I guess it was a lot because of how much you repeat it…” He trails off. “I’m...I’m sorry they said those things to you, Murdoc.” 

Murdoc sniffs and grips the steering wheel tighter. 

They don’t say anything for the rest of the drive. It’s only when they’re a couple block from the hotel that 2D says something. 

“What about dinner?” 

“What about it?”

2D looks at him. “We should have it. There’s an Indian place just around the way that everyone on Yelp is saying cooks up a mean Chana Masala.”

Unswayed, Murdoc continues to drive towards the hotel. “You can do whatever you want but I’m going back to the room.” 

“Do you want me to get you anything?” 2D asks.

“I don’t care.”

* * *

 

He spends the next hour lying on his bed by the window doing anything but look out the window. Instead, it’s the dull beige color of the ceiling that dominates his field of vision. 

He’s getting tired of not being able to understand why his emotions continue to overwhelm him the way they do. At least when he was with the band, he could predict a bad episode, such as at night, and plan accordingly. Now, they came anywhere and everywhere and sometimes over news he thought he would have been happy to hear, like knowing that it was his mother in the picture or knowing her name. Still, there’s the thought that she hated him, or didn’t care about him enough to keep save him from the harm he went on to experience. 

Yet at the same time, he hears 2D telling him that she never forgot about him and somewhere inside he knows that it’s true. The boxes of letters sitting by his bed wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t. Maybe she gave him directions to find her in one of them and, if his father had only given him them, he might have had a better life much sooner. Murdoc doesn’t know if that sort of knowledge would make it better or worse. Her existence along told him that he had other family out there, somewhere. He really could have had a different life, perhaps a happier life. The thought only makes his stomach turn and his head hurt.  


There are more from the same London location, and a couple that are unaddressed which he presumes are messages she wrote to him before he was born. He’s doesn’t want to open them alone, or maybe at all. There’s so much that he pushes away or suppresses simply because he doesn’t like it or can’t admit it. Truth, it seems, scares him. 

Suddenly, the door to the room opens. “It’s just me,” 2D says.  _ Right,  _ Murdoc thinks,  _ it’s just 2D.  _ “Take a look at all of this. I went all out. Got three orders of naan and some chicken Saag for you, if you want it. If not, we can donate it to a homeless shelter somewhere, or maybe to the nice people who work in the lobby.”

Murdoc stares at him blankly.

“Still upset?” He asks, walking over to his bed and sitting down beside him. 

Murdoc glances up at him and quickly averts his eyes back to the ceiling.   


“Was it something that old lady said?”

“It was everything that old lady said,” he retorts. “And then on top of that I think...I think I’m coming to realize that all of this is just…” He trails off. “You know what? Never mind.”

“It’s okay to feel bad or...whatever it is you’re feeling. We all feel that way sometimes. That’s part of being a human, so that means you’re human,” 2D offers him a small smile. “Kinda nice, really.”

Murdoc raises an eyebrow at him. “Nice to know I feel like shit?”

“No, or...maybe yes...and no...at the same time.” He stops to think. “Not nice to know you’re feeling so down, but nice to know that you  _ are  _ feeling it.”

“You know, 2D, I’m really not in the mood to translate this or decode that...”

“I guess what I’m saying is that last time something like this happened you were falling on your arse in the parking a few hours later, and then hurling in the toilet for the rest of the night. This time, that didn’t happen even though I know you’re still upset.” 

“It’s barely gotten dark, who’s to say that can’t still happen?”

“Me,” 2D says. “I’m going to sit right here and we’re, uh, we’re going to sit here.” He reaches into the carry out bag. “Okay forget what I was just saying. Let’s start here with this piece of naan bread. Do you want a bite?”

Murdoc swats it away. “You’re a fucking headcase.”

“Okay, so that’s a no. What do you think about writing a page in the journ-”

“No. That journal can fuck off. And so can this headache you’re giving me.” Then it dawns on him, and from the look on his face, 2D as well.

“You’re feeling some pain?” the singer asks.

“Yeah, thanks to you.” He moves his hands to his stomach. “I’ve got a bit here in the gut, too. You brought some of those pain meds of yours, right?” He’s very hopeful.

“Nothing for you,” 2D replies. “You don’t need meds like what I take just for stress headaches.”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. He knew that. He just wants something that will knock him out, or leave him spacey enough to sit through whichever stupid movie 2D wanted to watch tonight.

“...But I do happen to know, um, a way to help. Is it okay if I touch your head?”

“What?” Murdoc looks at him like he’s crazy. 

“My therapist has been talking to be about where in the body we hold stress and what to do to reduce it. One of those ways is by targeting some of the muscles. So I looked up what kind of massages are out there and there are a lot of articles about headaches. I’ve been practicing on myself.”

“Oh that’s reassuring.” He isn’t sure how he wants to approach the offer. On the one hand, he’s never been opposed to 2D catering to him but on the other hand, everything about their current situation was new and different. He was used to dressing up his feelings into something he was comfortable with, like immaturity or anger, yet all he could muster recently was apprehension and silence. To allow 2D to tend to him in this state was like allowing him to access a new layer of vulnerability he hardly even acknowledged. But inside there was a small part of him that was craving some semblance of comfort. 2D would listen to whatever he wanted, that he knew. 

“I’m glad you have faith in me,” 2D says, once again completely missing the sarcasm. 

Still, it’s enough to make Murdoc come to a decision.  _ It’s just 2D. _ This sort of encounter would be forgotten by tomorrow. “Fine. You gave me the headache so you can be the one to get rid of it.”

“Right on.” The singer doesn’t waste any time and reaches both of his hands towards Murdoc’s forehead. The movement is sudden enough that Murdoc has to fight back a flinch. “I’m going to focus on your temporal muscles first,” 2D says as he uses his index and middle fingers to apply pressure to the area above his temple. After some time, he begins massaging the area in a circular motion. “How does that feel?”

It feels good. Other than that, Murdoc tries to ignore how tall 2D looks from where he is lying and how hard he’s working to keep himself from dozing. He gives 2D one thumbs up and keeps his eyes fixed to the ceiling. 

“Good! So, next I’ll ask you to turn over onto your stomach so I can get to the back of your head. I’m guessing there’s some pain back there.”

Murdoc hesitates at first, but ultimately listens.  _ It’s just 2D!  _ He berates himself internally. Now at least he wouldn’t have to worry about controlling his facial expression. 

2D moves with a gentle accuracy. He buries both of his left and right hands in his hair, and somehow  applies just the amount of pressure Murdoc needs. For someone notorious for his clumsiness, it never ceases to amaze him how skilled 2D truly is. Then again, his hands had been responsible for significantly more complex projects, and haas been perfecting the craft for decades. He imagines it’s those same skills that enable him to massage his head with precision and care.

“Let me know if I’m pressing too hard.”

Murdoc only lets out a satisfied sigh. “This...is really,  _ really _ bloody weird.” He can’t help himself. “But...I think it’s working so...You can keep going. Or whatever.”

And 2D listens. He continues working, humming the song they were working on together as he goes. In that moment, Murdoc is finally able to stop thinking. He focuses only on the melody and the touch, the same touch he felt in the bathroom days earlier and he thinks, maybe, he could go to sleep this way. 

As his eyes are beginning to close, the hands move lower towards his neck. They press. Immediately, thoughts come back, bad thoughts, like he’s being suffocated or like he can’t move, and the images of various familiar and threatening faces he’s rather forget flash across his mind. He isn’t dreaming, he knows he’s not dreaming. So how is it that they still caught him? With a sharp intake of breath, he pulls away, frantic. 

2D jumps away just as quickly.

_ 2D. _ Murdoc reminds himself through shaky breaths.  _ It’s just 2D.  _

“D-Did  I hurt you?” 2D asks. “I...I didn’t mean to.”

“No, are you listening to how you sound?” He’s infuriated at himself for ruining what had been a restorative treatment. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. Nothing’s wrong.” It feels more like he’s trying to convince himself. 

“If it didn’t help, you can tell me.”

“IT DID WORK!” It was working in the beginning. It was working until he ruined everything. Or did 2D ruin everything? That was usually the case but this time it wasn’t because it was after all, just 2D. So then it had to be him, but he couldn’t admit that.

From where he’s sitting on the other bed, 2D appears to pick up on his distress and doesn’t argue with him. 

Eventually, 2D directs his attention back to the food, tearing off a large piece of naan and dipping it into his masala. For awhile, the sound of his chewing is the only noise in the room. Once he’s had enough of the bread he reaches further into the carry out bag and pauses.

“So...um, are you okay with talking again, Murdoc?” he breaks the silence. “I promise it’s not about anything, um, like that.”

“Fine.”

“Okay so, when I was in the restaurant they had this display right by the carry out section, and I picked up a few of these.” 2D pulls a few brochures out of the bag and offers them to him. “Take a look if you want.” 

Murdoc glances at them, curious. A cursory look show him a waterfall and mountains. Whatever they were for, they were making a commendable effort to sell the idea of “serenity.” He takes them and reads the front cover out loud. “‘See the beauty that can exist in a quiet and spiritual place. Join us for a month of universal prayer, lecture programs and meditation,’ and so on and so on. What about it?”

His response appears to put 2D in good spirits. He can tell by his smile. “I’ve always thought trying one of those out would be a good idea,” 2D comments through another mouthful of naan. “You know, getting away from everything, leaving it all behind for a while. It would be nice.”

“So you just sit around all day pray?”

“It’s like that commercial I filmed about Tibet.” The more he describes it the more excited he sounds. “Only all day long.”

“And what’s that supposed to solve.”

“I don’t know, maybe to...forget, or, like, you know, get away, take a break. I think I'd like that.” He looks at him, a sliver of hope in his eyes. “We could both go if you wanted.”

“Good luck with that,” Murdoc grumbles. “ If this trip thing, or whatever it is we’re doing, is proving anything it’s that no matter how far you try to run away, whatever it is you’re running from will eventually find you and fuck you over.”

2D’s face falls at this, and he looks down at his food as if it’s suddenly lost all its taste. 

“Well, am I wrong?”

“That...isn’t how I’ve been thinking about it.” 

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.” Murdoc picks his phone up from the the bed stand to check the time. It’s only nine at night. He doesn’t care. “I’m going to bed.” What other way was there to think about it than what he had just said? The question sticks in his mind until he drifts off completely.

* * *

Murdoc gets up late morning the next day, waking to a dark room and to the realization that 2D is still in bed. 

He studies the lump under the covers with suspicion. It’s rare that he gets up before the singer, and he’s gotten used to lying in bed listening as he talks to himself in the bathroom and sings in the shower. Today, it doesn’t even look like he’s watched any TV or ordered and room service. 

Murdoc gives the lump on the bed a shove. “Oi, Faceache, you awake?” He pokes it again, hoping that the mention of his old nickname might rouse him. “We have to figure out what we’re going to do today.” For the first time in a long time, he’s gotten up thinking about their possible agenda. They could leave today or the next. Personally, Murdoc had hoped that they could take a day off to spend some time in London doing...something. There’s also the letter from their most recent stop he thinks he might be ready to read, or the other unaddressed letters, that he thought they might read together.

The sound of incoherent grumbling comes from under the covers. There’s no other movement after that. 

“Come on, I’m buying plane tickets for today,” he bluffs. “If you’re not up I’m going to leave you here.”

No response. 

“Wake up!” 

This time the response is a surprisingly well-aimed pillow flying right towards his face. He blocks it with ease but he can still sense the malice behind it. 

“Fuck off.” Is the barely audible command tacked on at the end.

“What the fuck’s crawled up your arse and died today?” Murdoc asks. He’s at a loss. There was no immediate reason for 2D to be in a bad mood today.

Again, all he’s met with is silence. 

“Fine, if you’re to be that way, I’m leaving. See if you see me again,” He says, grabbing one of his bags for emphasis. He isn’t going anywhere, but he can at least leave him believing that he is.

He walks an aimless path around the city, first thinking of 2D and then of his mother and the unaddressed letters in his bag. After so many years, he finally had the means to go anywhere he wanted, to find out anything he wanted. It was more than he was used to and more than she ever had. Even so, he’s left wondering how finally achieving the freedom that once only existed in his dreams could still leave him feeling so lost.

He passes storefront after storefront, imagining that if 2D was with him, which stores he would want them to explore. Alone, he passes all of them until his wandering leads him to an old bench in an empty park where he finally decides to sit. He set his bag beside him so that he takes up the entire bench and he waits. Maybe if he gives himself enough time the strength to read the letters he brought along with come to him and he can go back to the hotel and brag to 2D that he made significant progress on the trip on his own and that he could stay as mad about whatever he was mad about for as long as he wanted because he wasn’t needed in the first place.

However, he’s unable to find that strength and remains stuck to that same bench for another hour or so before he starts wandering again. His next and final stop is the pub a few blocks from their hotel. He stays there for the rest of the day. 

It’s late in the evening by the time he’s stumbling back. He would check the exact time but he doesn’t trust himself to keep a secure grip on his phone, but he knows that it’s dark and that he - no, not he,  _ they  _ \- still have an objective. Disappearing for days was no longer an option, not if he wanted to continue his search. And he did want to continue his search because maybe 2D had a point. Two people in the world told him one thing, but there were hundred more who could tell him something else. His mind might never fully believe that, but maybe he didn't have to only believe one thing. 

_Rufina de la Fuente,_ he repeats to himself. _Her name was Rufina de la Fuente and they’re wrong. She didn’t forget me._ The words forge a clumsy path along his mind in the same way his feet stagger and drag across the sidewalk. It doesn't feel natural.  _It doesn't feel natural yet_. No, it only feels okay now because he's drunk and his brain was more scattered and hazy that usual. That was all. 

His indecisiveness doesn't prevent him from having a sense of pride as he swipes the key to their room. He had left the room and made it back in one piece. That’s more than 2D could say about his own day. He almost falls as he uses all of his body weight to open the door. “I’m baaaack!” He slurs.

He’s greeted by an empty bed and for a split second he thinks that 2D’s left to go back to Detroit. This is until he hears the sound of the sink running in the bathroom. He grabs the doorknob and pokes his head inside to see 2D finishing up washing his face. “So.” He leans on the door for balance. “You’ve finally decided t’join the real world.”

“Just finishing up my morning routine.” He sounds exactly the way has since they started traveling together- mildly cheerful and up for anything. There isn't anything wrong with that but relative to his irritable mood earlier that morning, it's an unusual change in mood. Murdoc is confused.

“So of all the hours in the day you decide you want to be happy  _ now _ at, um…” In a bold move, he reaches into his pocket and pulls his phone out. The numbers look blurry and he has no idea where he left his reading glasses. “...Whatever o’clock.”

“You’re holding it upside-down,” 2D says. “And it’s ten in the evening. I’m surprised you’re back so early.”

“I can get back whenever. You’re the one getting ready like it’s the morning after all your moping.” 

2D is pensive as he processes his comment. “There are some days that..that I get a little tired. That’s all. I still like to get up and start my day...even if that’s the only thing I do. I’ll probably stay up for a bit tonight.”

Murdoc tries to understand what he’s saying beyond, to read into his words but his mind is too cloudy. What does register is that they're making him upset, but he doesn't know why or how to explain that. Instead he yanks his bag off his shoulder and throws it on the floor of the bathroom. “I couldn’t read any of them. You know that? I had them with me and...I didn’t look at single one.”   

2D looks at the floor and then back up at him. “You want to go sit down?”

Murdoc sniffs and nods. 

They sit of 2D’s bed because it’s the closest to the bathroom. 

2D carries the bag out for him and sets it on the ground between them. “So, it sounds like you still want to keep doing this.”

“Yeah,” Murdoc says. Even though they’re sitting on 2D’s bed he can still see out the window, and that's where he fixes his gaze. “Why d’you ask?”

“You seemed so...disappointed the other day.” 

Despite the hour, the distant whirring of traffic still seeps in through the closed windows and the bright light of from the surrounding buildings still make him squint. Beside him, he can hear 2D’s steady breathing, hands clasped in his lap as he waits for him. “I…” he begins. “I don’t understand any of it...any of this. It’s all...” He loses his train of thought.

“Yeah,” 2D says, prompting him to keep goin.  


“I...think this is might be…” He struggles with the word. “Good? All of these dots I’m connecting...might be good. The thing is, and, and don’t go blabbing to anyone about this okay? I..I don’t think I know much about accepting good things.” He stops there because he doesn’t think he’s making any sense. 

“Yeah,” 2D says again. He looks over at him, his eyes soft and his smile small. “I don’t think I do either.” Murdoc can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but before he can ask, 2D leans over and pulls the bag on the bed with them. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t ever learn. You don’t have to read these right now. All we need to know now is is where we’re headed to next.”

“New York,” Murdoc says. “So…”

“A plane,” 2D finishes for him. 

The word propels him into a few brief moments of sobriety as he recalls his last plane ride. “Fuck.” 

“No, it’s okay. Here’s what we can do…”

Murdoc shakes his head. “Nope. We’re not doing those Wikipedia articles again. Never. Those didn’t help.”

“Yes they did. You spent that entire plane ride complaining about it. You didn’t even notice when we had taken off.” 2D pulls his phone out and types in the keywords. “This is called, ‘The Dynamics of Flight.’ And it’s not Wikipedia. It’s NASA, so these blokes know what they’re talking about.”

“That’s the same damn thing you-”

“What is air?” 2D reads. “Air is a physical substance which has weight. It has molecules which are constantly moving. Air pressure is created by the molecules moving around. Moving air has a force that will lift kites and balloons up and down. Air is a mixture of different gases; oxygen, carbon dioxide and nitrogen…”

And he doesn’t stop reading. Murdoc knows he must have stopped reading at some point because before he knows it, he’s sitting in the aisle seat gripping the armrest like he could get sucked off the plan at any moment. 

“Controlling the flight of a plane,” 2D says. “How does a plane fly? Let's pretend that our arms are wings. If we place one wing down and one wing up we can use the roll to change the direction of the plane. We are helping to turn the plane by yawing toward one side. If we raise our nose, like a pilot can raise the nose of the plane, we are raising the pitch of the plane. All these dimensions together combine to control the flight of the plane. A pilot of a plane has special controls that can be used to fly the plane. There-”

“Give it a bloody rest will you.” Murdoc snaps. 

“And we’re about to land in ten minutes.” 2D smirks at him. “It’s just like I said.”

“You’ve got to-” He’s interrupted by the dipping sensation of the plane descending. Beside him, he hears 2D chuckling. He wants to argue but he doesn’t dare let go of the armrest or take his attention off the movement of the plane for even an instant. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

“Look!” 2D points to the window. “You can see the skyscrapers from here.”   


Murdoc takes a quick glance out of the corner of his eye.

“We’re here,” 2D says, an enlivened tone to his voice. 

“That’s right.” Murdoc squeezes his eyes shut. “We’re here.” Once again, he was leaving something behind, but this time it was, as 2D had commented at the gate, “a good sort of leaving” because they had an important destination and because Murdoc could always go back. Still, he doesn’t know how anything that involves a plane could be a “good sort of leaving.” Suddenly he notices the sensation of the singer’s hand on his.

“Is...is this okay?” He asks.

Murdoc takes a deep breath. “Just know that I’m only letting you do this because there is no way in hell I’m letting go of this seat,” he whispers harshly. “You don’t breath of a word of this to anyone.” He sounds ridiculous. The entire situation was ridiculous, even by his standards. Despite his nerves, he wants to laugh, at himself, at 2D and everything. “And I’m serious about that,” he says, more to himself than 2D, but his urge to laugh creeps onto his face in the form of a rare smile. And even though his eyes are still closed he knows there’s a cheeky grin on 2D’s face as well. 

“Okay, but I get to bring it up when it’s just the two of us and you’re being a wanker,” the singer says. “Just kidding, just kidding. It doesn’t leave this row of seats.” He gives his hand an extra squeeze, turning to look out the window at the rest of the world rushing by in a blur.

And as the plane connects with the ground with a heavy clunk and his nails dig into the seat until they crack under the pressure of his grip, Murdoc believes him.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyhow, that's chapter 6! More on 2D to come...
> 
> Also, in case the plane scenes were confusing to anyone- ROTO establishes that Murdoc is like, deathly afraid of flying and as far as I know he has yet to conquer this fear. D=
> 
> Comments, concerns and questions help to keep me going and mean the world! 
> 
> Hope everyone is having a fabulous holiday season =)


	7. Chapter 7

Their hotel room in New York is barely a room.   


“This is what they call ‘two single beds?” Murdoc asks incredulously. The floor space between the two beds is almost nonexistent. “And how are you supposed to get in and out of here without fucking faceplanting?” He gives the dresser, inconveniently place in the hallway leading into the room, a light kick before sending 2D a scathing glare. “This is the last time I let you book anything.”

The singer has to pause a moment after his bag gets stuck between the dresser and the corner of the bed. “It’s not that bad,” he says as he tries to pull it through the space. “One reviewer on the internet went on about how cozy it felt. I read that and I thought, yeah, that’s probably what Murdoc needs right now.”

“They can’t even fit the bloody night stand where it’s supposed to go!” Murdoc motions towards the piece of furniture where it’s set at the foot of the other bed. 

“It isn’t like you were booking anything that night,” 2D says between pulls. “You moped around while I was reading and then fell asleep - in my bed - and then you wouldn’t move or wake up when I tried to shake you. You snored all night.” Finally, he’s successful and the momentum sends him falling backwards onto the floor. “And that wasn’t a hotel pillow you also drooled all over, that was  _ my _ pillow that I brought from home.”

Murdoc ignores that last part and sits on the bed, irritated. “That review was probably someone trying to take a piss out of poor, unsuspecting tourists like you. What about puke colored walls and tiny windows with no view screams ‘home’?”

Following his lead, 2D sits on the other bed. It’s close enough that might as well be sitting next to each other on the same bed.   


“Well,” the singer muses. “You had an entire day after I booked everything to tell me to change it and you didn’t. At least it’s cozy.” 

“Cozy for a room in a psychiatric ward, maybe.”

“So..” 2D gives him a look like he’s expecting Murdoc to know what he’s thinking. And Murdoc does know what he’s thinking, but in his current mood he doesn’t feel inclined to make their conversation any easier.

“What?”

“So, uh, your mum’s letters. The other day you didn’t seem to keen on reading them by yourself, and you slept most of the next day but, um, now that we’re here and it’s the two of us...”

The memory of what the last visit to him still carries a sting he has little interest in experiencing again any time time soon. “Nope, not necessary.

“I thought you wanted to look at them.” Before Murdoc can do anything, 2D grabs his bag. “We decided this was good, right? At least that’s how you were talking...about accepting good things.”

Murdoc yanks the bag back. He doesn’t want to begin their next journey feeling the way he did that last few days in London. Good thing or not, every new piece of information feels like a potential emotional landmine. It’s that fear that overrides his own curiosity. “I said no,” he says firmly. “We don’t look at anything until I say so. It’s my long lost mother that I never knew so I make the rules.”

2D looks at him in silence. Murdoc can almost see the wheels turning in his head. “Fine. That’s fair,” he says. His tone of voice says otherwise. “So, what exactly are the rules?”

“Simple. This room sucks. We’re going to the next address. Go now. Read later.”

* * *

He’s happy to see that the next address is taking them to a bar in Queens. Now, no matter what he did or didn’t find out, he would have the security of alcohol all around him. And he would need some alcohol soon because already he wasn’t feeling like himself. He is aware, painfully aware, of everything. In a city like New York where constant external stimulation was commonplace, this was fast proving to be less than ideal. It’s almost enough to make him regret opting for the subway over driving or a cab.

His heightened awareness reveals to him another mystery in the form of an unexpectedly happy 2D. He walks beside him with a subtle skip in his step. Murdoc being pleased with going to a bar was one thing, but considering his earlier irritation at Murdoc for drooling on his pillow and praise of him for not getting as drunk before, he can’t figure out what about him being near another drink would be in any way a cause for excitement for the singer. 

As if reading he’s read his mind 2D says, “You know, Muds, I think I’m looking forward this one.” He speaks with a nervous sort of happiness as he awkwardly positions Russel’s baseball cap on his head. “It might be just like old times.” 

Murdoc is puzzled. What exactly were “old times”? His first thought is going to pubs with 2D, which had been a nightly activity of theirs for years in the beginning. Murdoc remembers enjoying those times but he had selfishly never given much thought to how 2D felt about it. But it seemed the singer, who’s smiling at him like a nervous teenager on their first date, must have felt the same way. 

“ _ Oh, I'm an alien, I'm a legal alien. _ ” 2D breaks his train of thought with a song.  _ “I'm an Englishman in New York.” _

Murdoc swats lightly on the back of the head. “Oh, go ahead draw all the attention to us why don’t you,” he snaps.

2D frowns and adjusts Russel’s hat again. “Well that’s what I am, aren’t I? And...you weren’t saying anything back. And speaking of attention. Why is it always me having to disguise myself? You’ve been wearing the same black jacket for the past three days.”

_ Because no one ever notices you anyways, _ an unwelcome yet familiar voice taunts. Murdoc lets out a frustrated groan. He’s exponentially better at stopping his negative internal monologue when he isn’t so sober. “Because unlike you, I have the social acumen to fit in with any crowd I need to.”

2D tilts his head, thinking. “Do you think this place will be one of karaoke places?” Clearly, his brain had already jumped back to singing. “How wicked would that be if your mum worked in a place that we may have gone to before the first record? Wait, what if your mum also liked to sing-” 

“They didn’t have karaoke in the sixties, moron,” Murdoc says as they descend into the underground. “And we’re going to the bar to drink, not sing.” There was no way 2D was going to let him get drunk enough to get to that point anyway so he doesn’t understand why he keeps pressing the issue.

“But that’s, that’s not how it we did it back then.” 

“Yeah, well this isn’t Y2K anymore,” Murdoc grumbles back as they approach the subway map. There was once a time he cited New York as one of his favorite cities. As more people rush by him and bump into him, he comes to realize the city isn’t as welcoming as he remembers it. He misses the slower pace of London already. “And we aren’t…” he trails off when he sees the map. 

It looks like nothing more than a colorful bundle of lines that he can’t make sense of. A loud clang behind him and off to his left, like a hammer striking metal, only makes his concentration worse. When he glances around, all he sees are people. He doesn’t like being this crowded, and he doesn’t like how the stuffy, warm air makes it difficult for him to take a clear breath.  _ Look at the map, stupid, _ his own voice tells him, somehow finding its way over the clanging.  _ Are you so useless without your booze that you can’t read a map school age children use everyday?  _ He tries, but he can’t. The lines blur together and the crowd around him grows, the strangers getting far closer to him that he would like. That feeling of being packed in, that feeling of not having an escape route when he needed it is almost reminiscent of prison. His stomach clenches at the thought. 

“Hey, Murdoc.” He hears 2D’s voice beside him and a hand grabs his shoulder.

He knows that it’s only 2D within seconds but that doesn’t stop his body from visibly jumping. “What the fuck are you doing?!” It also doesn’t stop him from yelling. 

“I..uh..um, they’re saying we should walk, uh, a couple more block to the next stop so we can get, uh, the E train since..um..there’s roadwork,” 2D stammers out. “I’m sorry,” he adds at the end. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” Murdoc takes a moment to exhale. “Just…” he pauses. “Just don’t fucking go and do that out of nowhere.” He isn’t sure how long he’ll last today. It seems like every place they go is causing him some sort of panic that he doesn’t expect. 

“I was trying to talk to you but you weren’t saying anything back. I thought you couldn’t hear me. What else was I supposed to do?” 2D argues. 

Murdoc only glares at him, redirecting his frustration with himself towards the singer. Immediately, he sees a change in demeanor. 

“But, um...okay...it won’t happen again.” 

Above ground is no different than underground with the exception of slightly fresher air and he finds himself uncharacteristically missing the quiet security of their tiny hotel room. 

Beside him, 2D casually scrolls through his phone, occasionally announcing where they’re turning next and, once they get to the platform, when the next train is supposed to arrive. He’s surprisingly calm despite being the same 2D that had to retreat into his room for an entire day the first time he read his name in a headline. Or was he? 

“If the train arrives on time, we should get there by the half hour,” 2D says, eyes fixed on whatever game he was playing on his phone. It was as if he was sitting his in his room at home. 

“It’s so bloody loud here,” Murdoc comments. Perhaps the connection he felt to New York in the past wasn’t so much a connection to the city as it was a connection nonstop nightlife culture and what it did to him. He hasn’t had a drink since lunch on the plane earlier in the afternoon and his body is punishing him for it. “You can’t possibly be playing a game right now.”  _ How are you doing it? How are you staying so clam?  _  Is what he wants to ask.

“I want to try to get to the next level before we leave.” He glances at the clock. “And it says the it’s arriving in two minutes now.”

It’s not a satisfying answer in the slightest. “I can’t wait to leaving this sodding city. It reeks. I’ve probably got hundreds or thousands of different body odors soaked into my clothes. And that’s not to mention the rats. Do you know how many rats I’ve seen? Do you not see how many rats are crawling around this platform as we speak?”

“No, I don’t. I’m looking at my phone.”

Murdoc frowns. If tried to look at his phone, it wouldn’t change anything. 

“And I thought you liked it here,” 2D adds.

“I do,” he replies so quickly he almost interrupts him. 

“Do you think she liked it here? Your mum, that is.” 2D muses as the train whisks past them. 

“How many times do I have to tell you we aren’t reading them?” Murdoc says as the doors open. 

The inside of the train is, like everywhere else they’ve been, crowded. They’re unable to get much farther than the door. Murdoc is squished into the corner and 2D grabs a onto one of the handles hanging from the ceiling. 

“I’m not saying we have to do that.” The singer continues the conversation anyways. “In fact, I’d say that for now, I’d agree with you that we shouldn’t look at them.” 

Agree? With him? “What? Why?”

“You’ve been more, uh, how do I say this, fidgety lately...not saying it’s a bad thing. You know, if I never knew my mum and suddenly had the opportunity to, I would be too.”

Murdoc remains silent. 

“I guess I’m...I’m thinking about her, I’m thinking about her a lot, and you too,” the singer continues. “And that’s me as someone on the outside...I can’t imagine how it is for you. I don’t know how you stand it.”

_ And you too. _ The line imprints itself onto the surface of his mind, triggering it to start racing. What was he thinking about him? Or his mother? Did that mean he had picked up on how stressful the entire experience had been for him? Was that even something he wanted him to know? Nonetheless, 2D had picked up on his often conflicting and unpredictable emotions and that realization inexplicable urge to... _ What?  _ The voice mocks him.  _ Cry? _ He stops trying to make sense of it right then and there. He stops the conversation entirely. 

Instead he looks around the subway car. He listens to a conversation about a new exhibit at the MOMA, and another talking about cost of babysitters and how they wouldn’t be able to make it to their nieces recital that evening, and another person asking for change. He comes to a strange realization. To them, he and 2D were just two, unknown middle-aged men talking on the train talking to one another. No one knew about the potentially life-changing search he had chosen to pursue and it was likely no one cared. If no one cared then why did he care so much about saying it out loud? Why was he still sensing danger that clearly wasn’t there? 

Near him, 2D still appears to be waiting for an answer. When he sees Murdoc has no intention of talking to him any further, he sighs in disappointment but doesn’t say anything more. 

The ride together silently for the rest of the trip. It isn’t until they’re getting off the train that Murdoc remarks, “The subway here is creepier than I remember.”

“The last time we rode the subway here was during the second record- at the Apollo Theater. Remember?” A small smile appears on 2D’s face. Then he laughs. “Or maybe you don’t. Do you remember what the hell we were on?”

That was over ten years ago. What he can remember makes him smirk. “It was the greatest night of my life that I don’t remember. Now THAT was a night. I don’t think I’ve ever felt more alive.” He missed that Murdoc. 

“Yeah, but are you really living if you need something non-living to get you there? I’m not saying it wasn’t fun but...I don’t like it when I don’t having all my wits-”

“Wit? You?” Murdoc snorts.

“I don’t like not knowing what’s going on around me. It’s like..I don’t feel like a complete person.” 2D continues. “And then I didn’t get a chance to go sightseeing with Noodle and Russel the next day because I had too much of a headache to get out of bed.”

That he was right about. The coming down was always the worst part. “Well, that’s why when you feel it wearing off you add on more. You just weren’t doing it right. And what do you mean ‘complete person’? We’re all complete people.” But he knows exactly what 2D means. Back then he didn’t care about being a complete person. Complete people remembered and felt things where that Murdoc only wanted to forget and be numb. Now, remembering felt necessary for what he wanted, and even though 2D’s voice was in his head telling him it was a good thing he still misses that grandiose and carefree, albeit empty, reality that the old Murdoc occupied. In many ways, he wishes he could be that Murdoc again.

“Forget it.” 

Queens moves at a noticeably slower pace than Manhattan. There are less people, the buildings are lower, and, if the seagulls perched on the telephone wire were any indication, it was near the water. It doesn’t make Murdoc feel completely at ease, but it does make him feel...better.

2D and his phone lead them a few blocks over until they reach what Murdoc assumes must be their destination. 

“What’s the address again? 45-50?”

Murdoc pulls the envelope out of his pocket. Running his fingers along the seal,  he considers opening it and reading the letter right there but his hands won’t seem to listen. “45-58,” he says.

“Well then…”2D looks from his phone to the building. “I, uh, think we’ve arrived.” He turns to Murdoc and studies him, as if he is trying to get read of how the other is feeling. “It looks like a nice place.”

It is a nice place. Murdoc can tell from the rustic wooden tables and art hanging on the walls that whoever the owner is, they value presentation. A quick scan of the bar reveals a large selection of alcohol. Clearly, the owner valued quality. But it all looked so...new, not like a place that was around over three decades ago. “It’s going to be a bloody miracle if we get anything out of this,” he says.

“What happened to the ‘being more hopeful’ thing you were talking about in the cab from the airport?”

“Look at the bar! There’s can’t be anyone working there over thirty and this letter is from 1968!” At the very least, it lowered the chances of there being a karaoke machine. 

“We won’t know until we ask, Muds.” 2D puts his phone back into his sweatshirt pocket. “But it’s not all bad. We also have the bar.”

“Right.” Murdoc nods. Maybe the Murdoc he was the last time they were in the city wasn’t so far away after all. “You’re exactly right, 2D. When all is said and done we’ll be pissed out of our minds, and I can’t complain about that. It’s good to be on the same page.” He didn’t care if they didn’t find anything, right?

“Well, no...yes, too,” 2D says.  “Yes and no. Yeah. We still have to ask them questions about well...you know. But after that it can be like old times.” 

_ Old times _ . He kept bringing that up. “Err, yeah. Like old times.”

“Speaking of that...you’re, uh, feeling up to this though? You’re not just going to order the entire drink menu the second we get in there? I can ask the questions like I did last time it you’re not-”

“I know, I know.” Murdoc rolls his eyes. “And you need to quit it. I know exactly what I’m doing, especially in a bar in New York City of all places.” He gives the door a push. “And enough with stalling.” They were finally here and he wanted a drink. Bad.

It isn’t very crowded so it’s relatively easy for them get two seats right at the bar. Murdoc estimates that they’re probably the oldest customers by at least ten years. After a few furtive looks around the room he grabs an alcohol menu off one of the tables they pass.

“So.” 2D says. “Which one of these blokes do you think we should ask first?”   


“You can request that they serve you your drink in a mason jar. Where the hell is the place?”

“Murdoc, look.” 2D whispers as he motions excitedly to his far right towards a tiny stage with a microphone stand set up. “I think they have karaoke.”

“Would you quit it with the singing?” Murdoc whispers back. So he didn’t want him to drink too much but he had no qualms about them embarrassing themselves in front of a room full of millenials.

“Can I get you gentlemen anything?” The bartender’s voice brings their attention back to the bar. 

“When can we sing karaoke?” 2D asks. 

“We don’t have karaoke here. All that equipment is leftover from our weekly open-mic night.”

“Okay,” 2D nods. “That’s close enough. So, how would someone participate in this open mic night?” He turns back to Murdoc and whispers, “It’s been years, Muds. And now we’re here and we’ve found it again...Or did it find us? It’s  _ fate _ .” 

“Are you deaf? He just said there was no karaoke machine.”

“It’s almost the same thing.“ 2D clearly isn’t ready to drop the subject. “Remember you David Bowie impression?”

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Murdoc says, elbowing him. “He’s brain damaged.”

“Anyone is welcome to take part in open-mic night.” The bartender ignores him. “And by the way,” he says to 2D, “Is that a Brooklyn Dodger’s hat? That’s some classic shit, man. You don’t see those everyday.”

“Thank you.” 2D smiles a self-satisfied smile.

“That hat isn’t even yours and you don’t give two shits about baseball. We’re here because it’s a bar and we want to drink.” Murdoc shoots him another death glare before saying to the bartender, “And…” He takes in a deep breath as he tries to prepare how exactly he was going to proceed and the weight of why they were were there sends his nerves into a frenzy. “And because we have some questions. Maybe not for you...maybe for the owner or whoever is in charge.” He had brought along the letter and his baby pictures. In the moment, however, it felt stupid. Who shared baby pictures in a bar?

“I can get you the manager,” the bartender says. “Did you want me to ask him for you or-”

“No, we’ll ask him ourselves,” Murdoc states bluntly. 

“No problem. And before I go, did you want anything?”

“I’ll have whichever beer is your highest pour size.” He points to 2D. “And he’ll have water.”

The manager doesn’t come for a long time, long enough for them to lose track of time. Still, much to his chagrin, 2D makes sure he doesn’t drink more than one beer. He spends the time drawing the one glass out as long as he can, silently fuming as a second bartender praises 2D for his “vintage” baseball cap and another patron praises his hair as an “amazing dye job.” 

Murdoc is about to correct that patron about what’s really going on with 2D’s hair when they’re interrupted by a balding, heavyset man. “Were you the customers asking for the manager?

“Yes we were,” 2D says. “And is that manager you?”

“Yup.” He pulls a towel out of his apron and wipes down their area of the bar. “What can I do for you?”

“Took you long enough,” Murdoc grumbles. He’s been hating every second of this stop so far. In a show of frustration, he empties his pockets gracelessly on the table.

“Woah, Murdoc.” He hears 2D’s voice. “You’re showing him all of that?”

The first thing Murdoc notices is his baby picture. “No, I’m showing him this.” He holds the picture up so the manager can see it. “Okay, let’s get this over with. Did you ever see a bird like this wandering about here?”

“Uhhh.” The manager squints. “I don’t think you have the entire picture. Who is exactly is it your looking for?”

“Isn’t obvious? That adorable baby there is me and that woman is…” He stops himself. “...A family member.”

The manager reaches out his hand. “Can I see it?”

As the manager examines the photo, Murdoc can’t stop himself from moving. First he changes his sitting position by crossing and then uncrossing his legs, then he grabs at 2D’s drink only to be swatted away. He’s drumming his nails against the table when he glasses at the clock on the wall and stuck in a state of disbelief when he sees not even a minute has gone passed.

“I don’t know, man,” the manager finally says. “It says on the back that this picture is from like, the 60s and I’ve only been working here for four years.”

It was exactly as he had expected. “See! What did I tell you?” Murdoc snaps at 2D.

“I don’t know who owned the place back then, or if it was even a bar. The owner now has only had it for about ten years. I think it was his father’s, but I have no idea who sold it to him.” He shrugs. “Wish I could be more of a help; seems like a cool search you guys are on...what part of the UK are you from? Also, how did you get our address?”

Without warning, Murdoc grabs the picture back. “That none of you fucking business, tubby.”  _ Stupid, you’re so, so stupid. _ He doesn’t wait for a response and heads directly towards the exit.

“But, Murdoc…” He hears 2D call after him. He ignores it. “Murdoc!” 2D says more firmly and he flips him off.

Outside, he pulls out a lighter and a cigarette. Then he paces. His solitude, however, is short lived.

“What was all that?” 2D sounds irritated, more irritated that Murdoc would have expected. “You hardly gave that a chance. He might have had some more information.”

“Bullshit. He said he didn’t know anything. And then he has the nerve to try and engage us in some meaningless small talk about nothing to run our tab up? Fucking cunt doesn’t even have the decency to recognize me or ask for my autograph.”

2D looks flabbergasted. “How are you getting all of that out of….that?”

“How are you so dense that you didn't get anything out it? If it had just been you sitting there, I bet you would have sat there like a dunce talking about your shoelaces and gotten absolutely nowhere.” He throws his cigarette on the ground and stomps on it with a bit more force than is necessary.

“Oh really, Murdoc?” 2D asks, becoming more exasperated by the second. “Do…” he hesitates, “Do you even want to find out anything about her?” 

Murdoc pauses his fumbling with his cigarette pack and looks up at him, eyes narrowed. “Do I what?”

“I said do you even want to find out anything about her?” 2D responds, keeping his gaze on him steady. “Because you’ve been doing this every single time and right now what it feels like to me is you creating excuse after excuse to block out everything but the information you want to hear. It’s like you  _ want  _ to believe she abandoned you because you’re too afraid to learn anything else. I don’t understand that!”

_ He’s right, you’re a coward _ . Murdoc can feel himself starting to shake. 

“And I keep trying and trying. I try offering suggestions and help and you tell me to fuck off, then I try to follow your lead, saying it’s okay if you don’t want to read the letters and you  _ still _ don’t want to talk to me or anyone else. It’s getting really, really  _ frustrating _ !”

“Are you serious?” Murdoc yells back. “Well, if it’s that terrible for you then go back! It’s not like I fucking asked you to follow me around the fucking country like a sad, stray puppy.” Was that the only reason 2D had acted so understanding on the subway? Because he didn’t think he was opening up enough?

“That’s...that’s not what I’m trying to say…”

“And you don’t  _ know _ anything about me so don’t fucking talk to me like you have any idea what this is like for me, or like you can read my mind because you can’t!” He starts pacing again, but this time his path is not just limited to the front of the bar. Instead, it twists and turns haphazardly up and down the block.

“You’re right, Murdoc!” 2D exclaims as he follows him. “That’s what I was just saying - I can’t!” 

“So shut up about it and stop following me!” 

“No!”

Desperate, Murdoc quickens his pace but with the amount of people, he can only go so fast and with his lack of direction, he can only walk so far.

“And that’s the problem,” 2D says from behind him. “It’s been the problem for the last twenty years. I’ve NEVER known what you’re thinking. Sometimes I make a few good guesses but yeah, the truth is that it’s like you said - I don’t know anything and I’m stupid or whatever insult you happen to fancy that day. I used to blame myself for that but I know that not even the bloody FBI could get to the bottom of whatever the fuck is going on with you.”

“Then LEAVE!” 

People are staring at them now. All Murdoc wants to do is find a way to make 2D feel as bad as he does in this moment but the his words hit him hard and make it near impossible for him to string together more than a few words at a time. They make him want to hide and he hates himself for that.  _ He’s right, you’re pathetic. He’s right, you’re a coward _ . He also wants to make that voice go away.

“No,” 2D replies, voice softer now but still firm. “Because even though I can’t read your mind, I still  _ know  _ you. In fact, I might say I know you more than most people, and if you really didn’t want me here I would’ve been gone back when we were in Stoke. I don’t know what all of that means or if it’s just me hoping for things that will never happen again but…I’m here and I’m trying to know. I  _ want  _ to know.”

“Oh fuck off.” Murdoc says with an irate sniff. It comes out less threatening than he intends it.

“I already said I’m not gonna do that, not yet, at least. Right now you’re about to make me go mental but, over this week and half or so...I’ve seen you….” He trails off like he’s lost his train of thought. “I’ve seen you…” He never gets to finish the sentence.

“Excuse me.” It’s the manager from the bar. “So, I know I’m not your favorite person right now but I think there’s another person in our building you might be able to ask.”

_ No one ever notices you anyways. _ The voice echoes in Murdoc’s head.  _ I’ve seen you _ . 2D’s voice echoes back. Whatever he meant to add after that didn’t matter. On the outside, he’s frozen, cigarette held loosely in his hand, brain barely able to process what’s been said to him.

2D waves a hand in his face. “Murdoc…”

Murdoc shakes his head. “I..uh…” He can feel the others eyes bearing down on him with urgency. He does want to know his mother. How could 2D question that? And how could he manage to make him so angry, yet at the same time make him feel more cared about than he had been in years, possibly his entire life? “We’lltakethenameandnumber,” he blurts out quickly. 

The manager gives them the address and number for the building landlord, informing them that he has both owned and lived in the building since the early 50s. “It there’s anyone around here who has information you’re looking for, it’s him. Just go around back and ring the second doorbell from the bottom.”

They spend the next fifteen minutes standing outside the door with Murdoc ringing the bell. He begins by waiting a few minutes between rings but when that yields no response he decides to lean on the doorbell indefinitely, smirking at how the shrill sound reverberates on the other side of the door. He can’t stop replaying their argument over and over in his head and it irritates him because he can’t figure out how to feel about it. But as difficult as it was, he had to set it aside because fuck 2D and fuck his criticisms and doubts. And at least for the moment he could take it out on the door.

“Maybe he’s deaf,” 2D muses. 

“If he was deaf he wouldn’t have given us his phone number.” Without taking his finger off the doorbell, Murdoc begins banging on the door with his other hand. “Is he dead in there?”

“He might not be home. We could try again later…”

“Do you want me to search or not?” Murdoc snaps. “Because here I am, I’m searching!” He gives the door a swift kick. “Happy?”

“I wasn’t trying to say you didn’t care about your mum, Muds.” 2D says. “And you don’t have to destroy an old person’s door to prove whatever it is you’re trying to prove.”

“Yes you were, you said those exact words just a half an hour ago.”

“No, I was saying I felt like you were  _ acting that way _ , not that you  _ were  _ that way. I was using an ‘I-statement.’ ”

“Oh, what’s that? Some CBT communication therapy bullshit?”

“Close. It’s communication skills- assertive communication, just like I was talking about in the car while back,” He answers, completely sincere, as if Murdoc had been genuine in asking his previous question. “I’m glad you were paying attention.” 

The bassist is about to tell him exactly what he thinks of his communication skills when the door he’s been incessantly throwing various portions of his weight against, opens. He nearly falls through the doorway and into the elderly man standing there but is able to grip the door frame in time.

“Yes?” The man asks, sounding tired. “You know, the doorbell here works very well, actually.” He turns to address Murdoc directly. “It only needs to be tapped lightly and I’ll hear you.”

“Hello,” 2D waves. “Are you, uh, Peter Cohen?”

“I am,” the man says, adjusting his glasses. Squinting, he looks back and forth from 2D to Murdoc. “And do you mind telling me who you fellows are?”

“We’re, uh...we’re uh, just passing through.” 2D fumbles over his words. “We, uh, wanted to ask you some questions? No, I mean, we’ve been looking for someone who might have lived here...at one point...in time.”

“Ignore him,” Murdoc cuts in, rifling through his pockets. “What he’s trying to say is we were wondering if you, by any chance, remember any interactions or conversations with…” he pulls out the now crumpled letter from his pocket and point to her name. “Her.” As the man studies the envelope, he keeps talking,  pushed on by his nerves. “The bloke around the corner told us you’ve lived here for something like, er, a century or two, and that you probably know everyone but if you don’t, uh, we’ll just be on our way, no big deal. I’m sure it’s a long shot anyways. I, uh, I don’t care.” 

“Actually, he does care,” 2D adds. “We were just fighting about that.”

“Rufina…” The man says, a sense of familiarity in his voice. “It’s...it’s been years. She rented here- no wait.” He stops himself there. “I don’t mean to belabor the subject but do you mind me asking who you are and why you’re here?”

Murdoc frowns at this, and, feeling defensive, shoves both hands back in his pockets. The last old woman had only asked them to give her money. This time he was being asked to share a story had never spoken aloud to anyone. That wasn’t fair. Still, he can feel 2D’s expectant gaze.  _ You’re wasting your time, she never care about you, _ the voice tells him. Again, he clears his throat to stall. 

“Can I tell him, Murdoc?” It’s 2D. 

No, he couldn’t. “I’m Murdoc and he’s Stu,” Murdoc says quickly. “And….she’s...she’s…” He can feel himself starting to sweat beneath his jacket. It occurs to him that after all his yelling at 2D to leave, that he, too, had the option to leave as well. It would be so easy. From the corner of his eye he can see a flock of birds gathering on power lines, fluffing their wings and chirping contentedly. He stays focused on them as he shifts his weight from foot to foot. “She’s my mother. I never knew her. I mean...she, uh, left, uh, after she had me but you see, she wrote me a few of these letters. I guess she preferred paper records but, uh, I only found them a few weeks ago but I thought I’d...ask around. So far it’s been complete bollocks, not that I care, but…”

“You’re Murdoc,” the old man replies.

Murdoc is taken aback. “Err, yeah.”

“You’re the son,” he goes on, shock in his voice as well.

“He is!” 2D cheers, a little too enthusiastic for Murdoc’s comfort. 

“She was saving money for you, to go back to the UK. I had so much hope for her.” He looks at Murdoc. “I’m...sorry she never made it.”

As the birds he’s looking at become blurrier, Murdoc blinks harder, trying to appear as impassive as possible. Inside, he’s the diametric opposite.  _ Then LEAVE _ , the voice mimics him. Everything, his brain, his body, the many unforgiving lessons he’s learned, they all tell him to leave. But it’s everything he hopes for that compels him to stay, frozen in place.

“We’ve been trying to find her.” 2D is unable to help himself. “Did you know her? Do...do you know where she went?”

“I don’t. She only rented here for about a year, kept to herself a lot, but we got to know each other. She helped out with my pigeons for discounted rent.” 

“Pigeons?” 2D says.

Murdoc just stands there. They were conversing so casually. He doesn’t know how they’re doing it.

“Yes, I keep homing pigeons on my roof. It’s been...wow...over 50 years now.” He brushes his hand through his grey beard in thought. “I don’t know how much time you fellows have but you’re welcome to come in and sit down. I’m not sure I’ll have all the information you’re looking for, but if knowing about her means something, I have some stories and some pictures.”

“We think that would be very nice- I mean, what do you think, Muds?”

In a daze, he nods.

It takes them an excruciatingly long time to get back to the elderly man’s apartment because of how slowly he walks. It also doesn’t help that the building is old and lacking fast moving elevator. “You’ll have to excuse me,” he says. “My legs aren’t what they used to be. But my ears,” he shoots another look at Murdoc, follows behind them still in a stupor. “My ears work fine. I heard you the second you rang the bell out front, it just take me awhile to move.”

When they do finally reach the apartment, Murdoc is relieved to see a bottle of wine on the coffee table in the living room. 

“Sit wherever you’d like.”

It proves to be a bigger challenge than expected. The apartment is cluttered and dusty. Stacks of books and papers are scattered around the rooms along with a selection of other odd items such as and old telescope and globes. Murdoc spots an abacus on a shelf they pass. Eventually, he finds an open space on the sofa and sits down. Despite the absence of an ashtray on the coffee table in front of him, he pulls out a cigarette.

“I’d rather you not do that in here,” the mans says.   


“Murdoc has anxiety,” 2D says, sitting down on the floor beside him. 

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “Yeah, anxiety. Or...” He eyes the bottle of wine. “Or how about this? I’ll cut you a deal. I get a glass...or five out of that bottle you’ve got over there and I put my lighter away.” Wine was never his preference but he had been denied his chance for drinks at the bar earlier so he would have to  work with it.

2D nudges him. “One glass.”  He says under his breath. “Remember what we said…”

“That was  _ before _ we got invited into the home of a random old man who, from the sound of it, knows my mum’s entire life story  _ with _ photos.” He whispers back harshly. “Are you saying I don’t get to be at least minimally shit-faced for that?”

“I’m sorry. We landed here from London earlier this afternoon and it’s been a long day...literally,” 2D addresses the man. “We promise we’ll reimburse you for the wine.”

“I was going to offer you it anyways,” he replies without giving any indication that he heard their previous not-so-quiet-exchange in its entirety. “Let’s start with one glass and see how it goes.” He joins them with three glasses. “So, where do you want to begin?”

Murdoc grabs the wine glass and and gulps the small serving down. “Wherever you want.” He says, doing his best to pretend the tiny bit of alcohol was giving him a buzz. It was hard to talk, but far too important a source for him to trust 2D butting in with questions that might become too personal.

“Alright, so...She moved in about early 67, January or February, I can’t remember exactly. She was a very quiet tenant, but, as I got to know her, I learned she was also very driven,” he says as Murdoc pours himself another glass, this time up to the brim. “She never talked about her family, then again I only asked once, but she did always talk about you. You were the entire reason she was where she was.”

“Yeah, she dumped me in Britain with an angry drunk of a father and never returned.” He grumbles between gulps, heart pounding in his chest.

“That isn’t how she told it, but, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to pry at the time, but what she did say is that she had lost custody of you, and, prior to moving into this building she had been homeless. She was planning to save money for a one-bedroom apartment, find employment, and eventually take a trip back to the UK to get you. However, she didn’t renew her lease the following year and after that, I never saw her again. But she did love you. When we were first getting to know each other, bring you up was the only way I knew how to get her to open up. She would show me all your pictures and-”

“Pictures?....Of me?” Murdoc asks. He feels like he’s going to faint.

“Your mum sounds so nice,” 2D comments. “We’ve got a picture of her with us too. Or I guess maybe a half a picture. It’s a full picture of Murdoc but half a picture of her so...uh, I don’t know. What would that make it?”

“I can get them out for you,” the man offers.

“Uh uh, no,” Murdoc shakes his head. He had never seen her face before. He wasn’t expecting to see her face ever and, even though it had been something he had always wanted growing up, in the moment it all felt too fast. He pours himself a third glass.

“No?” 2D asks. “But he gave us wine, and he has more pictures, and-”

“It’s all fucked, that’s what it is,” Murdoc says, gulping down a healthy portion of the wine. “It’s completely fucked.”

The elderly man nods in understanding. “We can hold off on them if you don’t want to look right now.”

“It’s not that.” Murdoc shifts in his seat, uneasy. “It’s just...all of this…” His mind is racing a mile a minute yet he can’t make out anything it’s telling him. “I don’t know!” He exclaims in frustration. 

“So that’s it then?” 2D persists. “That’s all you want to know?”

Of course he wants to know more. However, he doesn’t like how vulnerable the day has been making him feel and he doesn’t want to make himself worse in front of 2D and a stranger by pushing himself any farther. He scowls in the singer’s direction, daring him to try yelling at him the way he did earlier. 

“How about this,” the man says, a sympathetic expression on his face. “How about I show you the pigeons? And we’ll see where the conversation leads us. Maybe we talk about her, maybe we talk about birds for the evening.”

2D doesn’t say anything this time. Murdoc knows what he wants him to say. “Fine,” he grumbles. He could make sure they just talked about birds. He didn’t mind birds. When he was younger he used to daydream that he was one, able to fly away from everything. He wouldn’t mind having that ability now. Reaching for the wine bottle he says, “I’m taking this.”

It’s another long walk but when they finally get there, Murdoc is struck by how much of the city they can see from the nondescript, tiny, building. The absence of skyscrapers, so prevalent in the city, provides him with a clear view of the sky and the water. The setting sun gives the everything a dim, yet warm glow. It’s beautiful. Instinctively, he walks over the the edge of the roof and leans over the guardrail, holding on with one hand and gripping the wine in the other. 

“What’s this one’s name?” 2D points to one of the cages.

“That’s Gizmo and that one over there is Merlin, and over there is Rio and Juniper- I’ve raised three generations of her family.”

“Wow,” 2D says as he pokes a finger into the cage. “I think this one- Rio is it? I think he likes me. You had a bird too, Muds. Whatever happened to him?”

Murdoc hadn’t seen Cortez in years. The raven had flown off sometime after Kong Studios has burned down and he never saw him again after that. At this point, he presumed that he was dead. He missed him sometimes. “Yeah, a raven, not a pigeon.” He turns back to them momentarily. “What do you even do with all of these coops? Isn’t this, uh, what do you call it? Animal hoarding?”

“They’re homing pigeons. I let them out during the day and let them sleep here at night. I don’t keep any bird here that doesn’t want to stay,” he replies. “I used to race them, actually.”

2D tilts his head in curiosity. “How do you race pigeons? Do you take them to a pigeon race track?”

“You set them free and time how long it takes them to get home. The pigeon with the shortest time wins.  Eventually, I stopped.” He takes a moment to adjust a nesting box. “Because a birds value shouldn’t be based on how quickly they get from point A to point B. Some birds move slowly, but they all come home eventually. You just have to let them move at their own pace.”

“Huh.” 2D scratches his head and glances at Murdoc. “Was Murdoc’s mum any good at it? Raising the pigeons? Did she name any of them that are still alive today?”

“I thought we were dropping that.” Murdoc interjects. 

“But you said you would be alright with talking about one or the other, and I’m curious. Come on, Muds, this is exactly the kind of information we were looking for and we’re right here.”

It’s like they’re stuck in some sort of purgatory where they’ve been damned to have the same conversation over and over for eternity. “Yeah, and in two seconds I could lob you over the edge of this building, and then you would be down there, so what’s your point?”

“You have my number, right?” The old man says, sensing on the tension. “Let’s leave it at this: you can call me anytime, I’m here. But for right now, it sounds like you two still need to figure some things out.” He begins moving towards the door. “Also, if you’re going to be up here, I ask that you don’t let the birds out. And you’re welcome to linger, just let me know when you’re leaving.” For one final time, he addresses Murdoc. “If I don’t hear from you again, I wish you the best of luck in finding her.” 

And within minutes, he’s gone, and it’s just the two of them again. 

“I like him,” 2D remarks after a while.

Murdoc ignores him and places his energy into picking at the label on the wine bottle. The he watches as 2D shuffles around awkwardly looking from him back to the pigeons. It’s obvious that he doesn’t know what to say. Murdoc doesn’t either, so he takes another sip from the bottle and keeps him back to him.

Eventually 2D turns his entire attention to the pigeon coop, making strange, bird-like noises at the cages.

It’s enough to make Murdoc break the silence. “What the hell are you doing now?” Did he even want to know?

“Bird calls,” 2D says. “I tried to tell them ‘hello.’ I don’t think they understood me but...I’m also not quite fluent yet.” His smile falls when the others only response is to glare. “I’m...I’m sorry Murdoc.”

Murdoc looks back over the guardrail. The violet and red hues of the sky are slowly being overtaken by night. He decides that would be a better way to face and turns towards the city. “Whatever.” 

“No, I’m being serious,” 2D says. “I’m sorry. For...today. For grabbing your shoulder in the subway...and yelling at you about your mum in front of hundreds of New York hipsters, and for whatever it is you were peeved about just now. I tried something different today and...from the way you’re acting now I don’t think it worked very well.” 

Murdoc doesn’t reply. 

“And I didn’t mean to say you were afraid like that’s a bad thing. It’s, uh, actually a good thing...not to say it’s obvious you were afraid or anything- but it would be okay if you were! I mean…” He trails. “I’m really not that good at this am I?”

Murdoc keeps his face as blank as he can and takes another gulp from the bottle in his hand and sighs. “There weren’t  _ hundreds _ of hipsters,” he says before holding back again.  _ Don’t do it, _ his voice says.  _ You’ll be sorry _ . “Let me make this clear and simple,” he says anyways. He doesn’t know how to tell him but 2D is right, it wasn’t working. And it wasn’t just 2D’s approach, it was his approach, too. Considering the singer’s genuine remorse in addition he decides that he owes him  _ something _ , even if he isn’t quite ready to give him the peace that would come from accepting the apology. “Up here…” He points to his head. “It’s all fucked up in here. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember...I like to think it makes me some sort of genius but....” He lets the sentence hang, frozen by the knowledge that he’s saying all of this out loud in front of another person.  _ I’m not. _

“I know that, Muds, and in some ways you are,” 2D reassures him as he walks over to where he’s standing. “I just can’t tell if I’m helping or messing it up more. I thought today was a good day, but everything I thought was good, you seemed afra- I mean, you seemed to...dislike.”

He wants to tell 2D that, as afraid as he is to admit it to himself, he isn’t messing it up. He wants to tell him that he does understand him, probably more than anyone in his life to date. He wants to say that he’s understood him since the first time they sat down at the keyboard together and he sang his lyrics at a time when no one else noticed him.  _ I’ve seen you _ . He replays those words.   


“Here’s the thing…” He brushes a shaky hand through his bangs. The wine was doing a terrible job at making him tipsy. “My fucked up head might make me a genius but it….it doesn’t bloody listen like it wants to fuck with me on purpose. It makes me think things I don’t want to think, ninety percent of the time it doesn’t let me sleep, it talks back. And the freaky part of that is that it talks back in my voice, like it’s Murdoc versus Murdoc in there. And it seems like the more about her that I find, the worse it gets.” He exhales. “And…” _I don’t know why._

Now standing beside him, 2D studies him carefully. “Are there ever times Murdoc isn’t fighting Murdoc?”

Murdoc avoids his gaze and tries to focus on the telephone wire again. This time, he doesn’t see any birds. He takes another long drink. 

“Okay...it’s okay, let me try rephrase that, uh…” 2D turns so that he’s looking over the edge with him. “So, uh, a lot the time, bad thoughts happen when bad things happen to us. Did…?”

“Did what? Anything bad ever happen to me?” Murdoc grips the guardrail tightly.  _ Everything bad happened,  _ he thinks. What comes out is a mirthless laugh.

“No,” 2D says. “I mean, I, uh, I know bad things happened. I just don’t know what...and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to but..I’m always here if you ever do. I guess what I’m asking is, do you ever think things that...aren’t so bad? Are there any good thoughts?”

Again, Murdoc is silent. He just needed to pretend 2D wasn’t there or that he was in a coma again, that he wasn’t there, looking at him with real, veritable concern. Eventually, he says, “Oh, I push back sometimes. I give it hell. Lately what’s been working is remembering random bullshit. Weird, but I’ll take it. So I keep going back, back to before we were a band.”

“Oh yeah?” 2D asks with piqued interest. 

“You know, like the first time you came to my house, another time when your mum offered me dinner because you were late teaching piano lessons to poor children in the neighborhood.” He stops again. “And another time when I got so angry with you for buying us lunch…Remember that?” He laughs another forced laugh. “For whatever bloody reason, it always involves you.”

2D seems to perk up at this. There’s an expectant and hopeful look in his eyes.

“And I guess that’s good, right?” Murdoc continues, “I mean, in the grand schemes of things you’re not  _ all  _ that bad to have in my head...all the time.” One thing was for sure, random memories with 2D were far more pleasant than unseen monsters or all too familiar faces that tormented him in his sleep.

“ _ ‘Cause you’re everywhere to me _ ,” 2D sings assuredly, as if he had finally figured out the solution to one of the three hundred piece puzzles he always took months to put together. “ _ And when I close my eyes, it’s you I see.” _

“What is it with you and the damned singing today?” Murdoc exclaims. This only seems to encourage the singer more.

“ _ You’re everything I know that makes me believe, I’m not aloooone.”  _ He sings more loudly, leaning over as he laughs. He grabs Murdoc’s jacket to steady himself, instinctively leaning his head on his shoulder. For a brief moment, Murdoc wants to laugh with him if anything at how bizarre situation was becoming. 

“You’re really fucking weird, you know that?”

“Oh, come on, Muds. I  _ know y _ ou know this one. It came out right around the time we released ‘19-2000.’”

“Of course I do, and then it fell off the charts and into obscurity where it belongs. And you choose to bring it back now, in the middle of heart to heart that - correct me if I’m wrong -  _ you  _ wanted?” 

“Just listen to the words.” There’s a huge grin on his face now. “Is that what you were trying to say? That I’m everywhere to you?” he teases.   


Rolling his eyes, Murdoc shoves him away. “Oh please. Don’t flatter yourself.” Nonetheless, a small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. It was getting increasingly more difficult to stay angry at him.

“ _ Just tell me how I got this far,”  _ 2D sings back. Then he sings over the guardrail to the rest of the city, “ _ Tell me why you’re here and who you are.”  _

“Shut up!” A random voice, presumably another tenant, yells from a few floors below them. 

2D frowns. “Well, that wasn’t very nice.”

Now it’s Murdoc who laughs. “Serves you right. No one wants to listen to that shit song, least of all me.” 

“I thought I’d try to lighten the mood.” 2D sounds a little more self-conscious as he moves back to his place beside Murdoc. “I’d say it worked a bit better than what I did earlier, right?” 

“It beats the bird calls.” It isn’t the answer 2D is looking for, he knows that. But he doesn’t want to talk about their fight anymore, at least not now.

“Well, um, okay, I’ll give my serious response then.” He looks down at their hands, both resting on the rails beside each other.  “I’m happy you’ talked to me more...about...you. Really happy, actually. I hope we can do that more often.” The moonlight hits 2D’s face in a way that give him a serene yet otherworldly look, and Murdoc idly catches himself staring.

Gazing out into the distance, 2D starts singing again,  _ “You’re in everyone I see, so tell me…” _

“If you have to sing could you at least pick music that’s actually good?” Murdoc interrupts him, slapping a hand to his face. “Like, I don’t know, Zappa or Waits or Sabbath. You like some good music yourself, why not sing music  _ you  _ like.”

“Three things, Murdoc.” 2D holds up three fingers. “One, none of those groups you listed are from the right period of time, two, I don’t think that’s the kind of music you need right now. You need something uplifting and soft, not all that angry or loud music you usually like. What are they calling it now? Purposeful pop? Yeah, that’s it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me...”

“And three, you weren’t saying anything so I thought I’d finish the song.” On the rail, his hand fidgets. “ I get antsy with silence, you know that.”

“Well, enough about what you think I need,” Murdoc says. “You want to know what I know I need? A drink.” He tosses the wine bottle out into the alleyway below. “Because this isn’t cutting it, and if I remember this right, you were going on about going back to the ‘old times’ after we asked questions, which we’ve done. So what do you say we bust out of here and go on a good, old fashioned bar crawl?”

2D smiles but there’s that same nervous excitement behind it that Murdoc picked up on earlier in the day. “Yeah...I, uh, I’d like that. Maybe we can find somewhere else with an open mic night.”

“Don’t push it.”

“But are you sure you don’t want to spend some more time up here? It’s a lovely view.” He gestures towards the skyline.

As beautiful as the view was, it didn’t make him want to stay. The lights were all on now, colorful and bright showing Murdoc that the city was alive. If anything it was beckoning him off the roof. He was ready to feel alive, too. “The view is only fantastic if you’re on a schmaltzy, over-indulgent dinner date which-”

“Which could be arranged,” 2D interrupts. “I’ve got the Uber Eats app on my phone.” Murdoc can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

“Do you want to go on this crawl or not?”

“I do, I do,” 2D reassures him. “But...we are coming back again tomorrow, right?”

Murdoc waves a dismissive hand in the singer’s direction. “Yeah, yeah, I promise.” That part of the day was over. He was in an entirely different state of mind now. “But the night isn’t getting any younger.” 

“O-okay.” 2D nods, effectively reassured. “Okay!” He repeats himself with more confidence. “Let’s, uh, let’s go then!”

And they do go. Murdoc throws back shot after shot until he forgets where they’ve been and the voice goes away, until the edges of his vision become blurry and the city and its crowds become welcoming again. 2D keeps up with him for awhile and doesn’t stop him when he keeps going. Murdoc doesn’t know why but he doesn’t question it. Eventually, they’re both stumbling on the sidewalk, leaning on each other to maintain their balance. 

The night ends when Murdoc feels at his highest, standing on the edge of the East River, slurring something to 2D about taking a dive and swimming back to London. It’s only then that 2D pulls him back and hails a cab for both of them. 

It’s 2D that he leans against, arm wrapped around his shoulder, as they stagger through the lobby. 2D seems to be only marginally more sober because he’s the one who guides them. Occasionally he guides them directly into furniture, but he forges ahead anyways, laughing at his own jokes. It’s then that Murdoc’s mind drifts to memories of the many situations the singer has pulled him through both literally and figuratively. How many times had they done this same walk? How many times had Murdoc been on an edge, only for 2D to stop him. If 2D hadn’t been there with him now, he likely would have been a story in the paper with a tiny headline, printed on the back page that no one read anyways. _Drunken man jumps deliberately into river, almost drowns_ he thinks it might say. But for a reason still unknown to him, there was something about him 2D saw that made him someone worth pulling back over and over again.  2D carried him, and in carrying him 2D also carried the band...2D carried a lot. Murdoc hadn’t been anything to anyone, but just as 2D sang earlier, he saw him...somehow.

“I forgive you,” Murdoc mumbles into his sweatshirt as they teeter through door of their hotel room.

“What?” 2D looks at him through bleary, unfocused eyes. Murdoc wonders if he feels as free as he does right now, like he could float away.

“I didn’t say it on the roof back there, but I’m sayin’ it now.” He shifts so that his face is no longer buried in the fabric. “I forgive you.” And as the singer clumsily tries to lay him on his bed, he tries to pull him down with him, a lopsided grin on his face. “S’okay now...not in the subway anymore. If you want to grab me, you can grab me.” Memories of 2D’s light touch as he gave him a head massage in London flash across his mind. “Whenever, wherever you want.”

2D falls with him, though he doesn’t fall with him as precisely as he would have liked. His upper body is on top of him, but his lower body doesn’t quite make it on the bed. Even so, Murdoc can’t stop himself from grinning contentedly. The weight is warm and comforting. “Cozy,” He states. “This room isn’t all shit, it’s cozy...cosy like you said...I like that too.” He hiccups and them pokes 2D’s head. “And I like you. Isn’t this great?” 

Still in his own world, 2D laughs. “Told you it was a good deal. We’re all cozy and liking each other now...not mad...I like you too, Muds.” He’s close enough that Murdoc can feel his breath on his neck as he speaks. Involuntarily, he tilts his head to the side.

Suddenly 2D stops laughing and the weight disappears leaving him confused and stranded.

“Wha…? Where’re you going?” Murdoc grabs in his direction, but already 2D is farther away than he seems. He can hear the singer cursing at himself. “Don’t you...or, uh…” his mind is swimming now, his sentences coming to him in fragments. “Do you not want to..?” Did he not want to what? What exactly was he asking for right now?   


2D’s sandwiched himself in the small space between both of their beds, hands wrapping and unwrapping strands of his blue hair from around his fingers. He shoots sporadic glances at Murdoc, a sad yet wanting look in his eyes. “Of…” he hesitates. Then he stammers out, “Of...course I do. It’s just...” The words are barely audible. “Stupid head,” he mutters, talking to himself again. “So stupid…”

“What d’you mean?” He make an attempt to sit up, but when he moves, the room seems  to move with him. He lies back down. “2D…2D it’s me.” Why couldn’t he see that? He was back to being the Murdoc he knew, he was  _ happy _ . They  _ both _ were happy moments ago. So what was wrong? 

2D shakes his head again and slowly stands up. “I’m getting a glass of water. You should have one too.”  He stands still, waiting to regain his balance. “Then we should go to sleep.”

He’s being kind to him, that much registers. However, doesn’t make him feel better and with his brain as cloudy as it is, Murdoc can’t figure out why. He can hear himself going on about how the night was young and how they could go back to the pigeons right now if he wanted, he even sings out a few botched lines of the song 2D was singing him earlier but his words slur together and his eyes become progressively heavier. 2D doesn’t come back, but he tells that he should get some rest, that everything is alright and that he wasn’t going anywhere. It all goes dark after that. 

The next time he comes to the room is a little bit lighter and he’s greeted familiar ache in his head. He’s awake enough to notice 2D out of the corner of the one eye he’s decided to crack open, hunched over his journal. He’s writing something down intently. Every now and then he pauses to look at Murdoc, at first with the same intensity and then later with hesitant half smiles. Murdoc considers saying something, but opts for resting his eyes just a second longer. 

When he rouses the second time, he hears the water in the shower running and the room is bright - far brighter than he would expect with such a small window - with sunlight. He winces and groans, still in the same position on his back that he was when they got home last night, wearing his same clothes. The glass of water 2D got him sits on the nightstand at the foot of he bed, untouched. In the background, another low-budgets monster movie plays on the TV, the brash sound effects only making his headache worse. Whatever he had last night had done a number on him, it seems. It would be a miracle if he got out bed before at least the early afternoon. 

Then he spots the open journal.

It catches Murdoc’s eye as he glances over at 2D’s bed. Instinctively, he tries to see what he can make out from his prone position.  _ This time, _ the words say, jumbled, yet earnest. _ I want to talk about Murdoc _ . It’s enough to make him roll over on his side to get a better look.  _ When I think about Murdoc I... _ He can’t see the rest and he reaches his hand out, intending to pull the journal towards him. His entire body protests as he moves but he’s fixated, driven by his own curiosity.

“You’re up.” He jumps as 2D’s voice hits him from the bathroom door. He’s in his boxers, head wrapped in a towel. From the nonchalant manner in which he walks around the room picking out his clothes for the day. 

“I guess you could call it that,” he replies, quickly drawing his hand back. Bits and pieces of last night begin to resurface. They had been having fun the way it they always used to have fun. Then they had gotten back to the room and...he throws an arm over his eyes, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “My head hurts.”  Where those the old times 2D had kept mentioning?

“Well, I’m not in a rush. There’s a whole room service menu to go through.” He smiles and unwraps the towel from his head. Then he throws it on the floor and sits down on the bed. If he remembers anything the way Murdoc is he isn’t showing it.

“Hey, er, hey 2D?” Murdoc lifts his arm slightly so he can see him. “I, uh...thanks.” 

Across from him, 2D freezes right in the middle of pulling his shirt over his head. Slowly he pulls it down, revealing an expression that’s cautiously optimistic. 

“Thanks…” He isn’t sure how he wants to finish that sentence “...For thwarting my plans to dive in the river last night” he finally says. 

“Oh…” 2D says, tone unreadable. “You're welcome.” Then he goes back to getting dressed. When he’s finished he looks at him again. “So, uh, Muds?”

“What?”

“We’re, uh, we’re okay...right? Everything’s alright?”

Murdoc waits before he responds. Yesterday had started okay, but then it had gone terribly. And then it had been okay again until the evening where it had been amazing. And now, he was confused, not only over his mother but now over what it all meant. He covers his eyes again. If 2D could press reset, he could too. “...Yeah.”

Reassured, 2D’s face brightens. “So, I was thinking about the pigeons,” he says. “What did he call them? Homing pigeons? We know they always come home but what’s stumping me is that I don’t where they go when they aren’t home. Do they have errands to run or appointments to go to? Is there an entire world of pigeons that we don’t know about? Also, how does a pigeon pick its home in the first place?”

He keeps talking until his voice fades into the background and Murdoc’s own thoughts take over. 2D was here, and, if the previous day had proven anything, he wasn’t leaving. Likewise, Murdoc realizes as he thinks about it longer, he wasn’t leaving either. So this was how it was going to be. He was going to continue on this journey, a journey with an undefined ending that could very well permanently alter everything Murdoc used to believe he was, with 2D of all people. 

“We need to ask him that when we go back today.” 2D’s goes on. “How the pigeons pick, I mean...and also what makes them want to stick around. I’d like to ask them myself, but they weren’t having it when I tried last night.”

  
And, as much as 2D still annoys him and, as time was beginning to show, confuses him Murdoc is struck by the comfort he feels from trusting what he had said to him, yelled at him and gently reminded him- that he was staying. And he thinks that, maybe, he’s okay with that because it was the rare person that chose to stay around Murdoc.  _ Not even your own mother _ , the voice, his voice, sneers. Sighing, he turns on his side, internally shooing away his thoughts and 2D’s pigeon tangent. There was too much for him to figure out right now, but he hesitantly allows himself to believe that 2D will be there with him through it, and there would be time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg it's been a little longer a wait since last time AND I'm breaking my tradition of covering one stop per chapter (I wasn't expecting that). Additionally this ended up being more about 2D and Murdoc than the search but more of that will be covered next time! I anticipate updates will come more frequently if not by next chapter definitely by March when my schedule clears up some. As always, feedback, thoughts concerns help keep me going and I really appreciate them!! 
> 
> Also: "Englishman in New York" Copyright © 1987 Sting, "Everywhere" Copyright © 2001 Michelle Branch (do I even need to do this?? lmao Anyhow...)


	8. Chapter 8

The sudden flash of royal blue 2D pulls out of his bag if far too bright for Murdoc and his headache. The resulting sound of the fabric unfolding is similarly magnified. Squinty-eyed and irritated, he lifts his head from the pillow. “What the hell is that? And why at this hour? It’s six in the morning.”   


“It’s noon. And this a yoga mat - the one I bought for Noodle when we played in California.” He stops to assess for a moment before saying, “I guess I’m borrowing it now.”

“Just how many of our dear colleagues’ belongings did you steal?”

“ _ Borrowed _ .” 2D repeats. “Anyhow, I’m actually behind schedule. I usually meditate right after I wake up.” Carefully, he adjusts the mat on his bed. Murdoc considers asking him why but then he remembers their beds are the only flat open spaces in the room. “But this morning I had a tad more to do,” 2D continues, “And I, uh, I dunno, I also thought maybe you might want to join. So I waited.”

“And what makes you think that?” Murdoc grumbles. He can barely tell how much time had passed since they had gotten home from last night, and doesn’t feel any less hungover than he did the first time he had woken up to 2D writing. He lingers on that image before pushing it away. 

“Because,” 2D says. “I think it’s something you need right now; helps with nerves.”

Murdoc burrows his head in his pillow. “See, I thought we established yesterday that what you think my needs are...aren’t. Right now, they’re simple - sleep.”

“How about this?” 2D persists. He grabs his phone. “I have this app. It’s this nice lady reading out guided meditations. All you have to do is listen. We could do the beach, the forest, a cloud, a valley - here have a  look.” He leans closer to hold the screen to Murdoc’s face and the bassist swats him away. 

“Okay, okay! Fine! I’ll do it.” He trusts that he can sleep through whatever the singer throws at him, he’s determined now. “Just..shut up.”

2D grins as he settles back down on his bed. “Alright then.” 

Murdoc watches as he positions himself, cross legged on the map. Once he’s comfortable, he inhales, then exhales. Then he’s still and the room is quiet. After another minute of silence, he taps his phone and the crashing sound of waves comes from the speakers. 

“This is a time for relaxation. During this exercise you will take an imaginary walk on your favorite beach,” the voice reads. 2D closes his eyes. Murdoc interprets his actions as permission to close his eyes, too, and he’s happy to do so. If 2D asks him later about the snoring noise he feels sure he’s going to make, he plans to tell him he was just lucid dreaming. 

“Begin to let go of tension and relax your body. Scan your whole body for any tense spot. Bring your attention to this tense area. Allow the tension to gradually disappear. Imagine the tension melting away with each breath in and out...Take a few deep breaths. With each breath, you breathe in relaxation and breathe out tension and fatigue. Feel your body sinking more and more into deep relaxation.”

Murdoc listens as 2D follows the script, taking long breaths in and long breaths out, trying to hold back his laughter. How could anyone take this sort of thing seriously? The last time he had been on a beach, he had blacked out on some potent concoction he couldn’t quite recall, what was relaxing about the beach?  _ Besides, you’re so screwed up nothing will ever help you. _ The voice asks him.  _ Am not _ , he thinks back.  _ You are. That’s why they’re voting you out. _ Frowning, he focuses on the script with a new level of dogged determination.

“Each wave breaks against the coast, rising slowly upward along the beach, leaving an area of white foam.”

_ He’s laughing, stopped only when a particularly large wave hits the back of his legs and sends him stumbling. In the confusion, he drops the nearly empty bottle of rum he was carrying around with him. But tonight, he doesn’t care.  _

_ The singer has his own bottle in his hand. He smiles at him in a sort of daze.  _

_ He staggers back towards him, unsure of how he’s able to stay up. The world seems to spin with each step.  _

“With each motion of the wave as it glides in and then out, you find yourself feeling more and more relaxed. The tranquility creates a sense of calmness and peace,” the voice continues. 

_ The night sky in Jamaica is strikingly clear, clearer than any night sky he had seen in Stoke-on-Trent. Unobstructed by smog, mist or clouds, the stars and moon are completely mesmerizing to him, beautiful even. He feels like he could reach out and touch them from where he’s standing. _

_ But it’s the sand that his hands touch next, sand and discarded cigarettes from earlier that evening.  _

_ “Careful, Muds.” It’s 2D’s voice. “Or you’ll fall flat on you face...oh wait.” _

_ And they’re laughing again.  _

“You forget about time. You don’t know how much time has passed.” The voice drones on in the background, distant. Murdoc barely notices it at this point as the memory becomes more clear. 

_ “...What I’m trying to say is, it’s taken years to get here, D, YEARS. And I’m finally here and the future is as crystal clear as those stars in the sky.” He’s lying on his back in the sand now, and points a wobbly hand up towards the sky. “What you could say is...” _

_ “The future...is coming on. It’s coming on. It’s coming on.” 2D finishes his sentence for him between laughter before lying down in the sand next to him. “Staying behind was a good idea, Muds. We spent so much time in the studio I never really got to see the island. It’s nicer out here, smells better, too. It’s nice to see you...happy.” _

_ “It’s ‘cause of you, y’know,” he says with a hiccup. _

_ “Oh? Oh yeah?” There’s the sound of glass clinking as he scoots closer, moving their pile of empty bottles with him. _

_ “Yeah. I mean, I did it all, but, it wouldn’t be the same without..the vocals, the right look. That’s you. You’ve got it, 2D. And me? I don’t have to keep looking and looking and…” As he speaks, his vision it becomes more difficult to focus. “I’m free.” The words make him feel giddy. “Free like a bird in the air...in the sky...blue like your hair.” He snorts because he hardly know what he’s saying anymore. “See that? I rhymed.” _

_ “Do..do you mean that, Muds?” he asks. “Because I…” he hesitates before turning to lie on his side so that he’s facing him. “I, um, I don’t want this to come across weird or creepy but I’ve also been wanting to tell you...” _

“The tranquilizing sound of the waves, the smell and taste of the sea...Notice how deeply relaxed your mind and body feel right now.” Murdoc twitches in unease but keeps his eyes closed, unsure if the memory is real or his brain screwing with him. Across from him, 2D’s breath is slow and relaxed.

_ His hand rests on his cheek gently. He isn’t sure how it got there, but its warmth is soothing. He can’t remember a time anyone had touched him with such...tenderness. “I just want to make sure you’re, uh…” He glances at the collection of empty bottles between them. “...still in there. Because I’m not all there right now, but I’m there enough, if that makes sense.” _

_ He turns his head to meet his gaze and looks into his eyes. The first thing he sees is himself, a lopsided grin on his face and half-open eyes. Then he sees the world behind him, the trees, the waves, the sky. When he allows his mind to wander, he swears he can see even see his own future, his dreams, his ideas, all floating embryonically in the swirling darkness of the singer’s sclera. It’s like 2D was telling his entire life story back to him in a single glance, like he really knew him. “I’m here,” he says. “You’re here. We’re here.” _

_ “So it’s okay..? Okay if I, uh...” He waits. Murdoc can feel the hand on his cheek starting to sweat.  _

_ “Well I’m here aren’t I?” Murdoc reaches his hand out thinking he’s going to brush some of the singer’s hair out his face, but his aim isn’t at its best and he almost pokes him in the eye. “I’m right here.” _

_ “Yeah,” 2D says, hand shifting gingerly to the back of his head as he leans closer until their foreheads are nearly touching. “Yeah…”  _

“When you are ready to wake up your body and your mind, and return to the present, give yourself a few moments to do so. Return your awareness to your surroundings and notice the real environment you are in. Let your muscles wake up…When you are awake and alert, you can return to your usual activities, knowing that you can return to this place in your mind whenever you want to relax.” After the script ends, the sound of waves crashing on the beach continues for another minute, becoming fainter and fainter until it’s silent.

2D stretches his arms over his head and yawns. It’s loud enough to bring Murdoc back to present with a less than zen jolt. “See that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks.

“It’s fucked is what it is.” Murdoc opens his eyes, more awake now than he was when the meditation started. Internally, he swears to never try that again, or if he does, it isn’t going to be a beach script. “Do you do that hippy dippy bullshit every morning?”

“No.” 2D leans forward from his sitting position until his forehead is touching the mat. 

“What are you doing now? What is that?!” Murdoc has trouble containing his genuine horror. 

“They call it ‘Balasana’ or ‘Child’s Pose,’ Muds. I do this every morning, along with a few other poses. It centers me. You would know this if you ever joined us when Noodle hosts yoga parties in her room.”

“Everything about what you’re doing right now is guaranteeing that I’ll  _ never _ join you lot for a yoga party for as a long as I exist on this earth.”   


2D sits up and cracks his neck. “Well, did the meditation help at least? It looks like it woke you up..like a nice, soothing alarm clock.”

“I’m not even going to bother commenting on that.” Murdoc starts to push himself into a sitting position as well. “Why did you pick the beach?”

2D shrugs. “Well, I like the beach...not all beaches but most of them. The ones with the big waves? I hate those. Anyhow, I don’t need the guided scripts as much anymore but since you’re a beginner, I figured you might connect. Besides, I thought you liked the beach...we’ve had some nice times on the beach, right? Remember that time you took Noodle on the paddle boat and-”

For the first time that morning, Murdoc gets up and moves in the direction of the nightstand where his own bag sits. ““You know what? Forget I asked.” There are certain conversations he doesn’t want to accidentally prompt. “And I don’t know why you keep going on about those little exercises,” He says as he  searches through the bag. “When I was in primary school, they tried the same thing. ‘Take deep breaths, count to five,’ you know, the whole spiel.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed you doing that sometimes.”

“It’s shit. It doesn’t  _ do _ anything.”

“But you keep doing it. That means it’s doing something, right?”

_ It’s because you’re desperate.  _ “No, it doesn’t,” Murdoc snaps with more anger than he intends. Finally, his hand lands on what he wants. More at ease, he pulls the can of beer out and cracks it open. It’s room temperature but he doesn’t care.

“You’re going to do that after all we had last night?” There’s judgement in 2D’s voice. 

“It’s a supposed to be my ‘big day’ isn’t it?” Murdoc uses quotes, not even trying to hide the sarcasm. “In a perfect world, I’d be drinking more but I’m going to be a team player today and compromise.” He glances over at the journal which rests beside 2D’s pillow. 

“We’re expected over there today around four.” 2D checks his phone. “And that’s...about three and half hours from now. 

“You want to read the other letters?” Murdoc asks, wanting to change the subject. Inside he’s also still wondering what 2D was writing about him. He wants to ask directly, but he knows that if he wants there to be any chance of 2D telling him anything he needs to actually follow through on being a team player.  “I mean, er, I should know what questions I’m asking since last time I had no idea what I was doing.”

2D gawks at him. “Really, Murdoc? I didn’t think…” As he comes to fully understand what Murdoc is saying, his expression changes to one of excitement. “I mean, of course! Let’s...let’s read them.”

Rolling his eyes Murdoc leans over the nightstand, reaching for where the boxes are sitting. “Can’t allow ourselves to get too far behind.” He rests the box in his lap. “And wouldn’t want to ask any potential   emotionally catastrophic questions if I don’t have to.” He tries to play it off with laughter the way he always does in interviews even as his heart beats at a relentless pace in his chest. It comes out awkward and nervous. 

From the other bed, 2D studies him briefly before offering an understanding smile in return. “How about I sit over here?” He asks, moving over to Murdoc’s bed before he can reply. 

Murdoc tenses at their closeness - 2D is practically leaning on his shoulder - but it’s a different kind of nervousness than what the letters are causing. “I didn’t hear myself say yes, div.”

“I’m here for moral support,” 2D says. “And so we can read it at the same time and you don’t have to read it out loud and all stuff. Or I could read it out loud... but only if you want to. We could also try deep breaths first if you want.”

Murdoc shrugs him off and opens the next dated envelope. “Just let me do this! Okay? Christ.”

_ Dear Murdoc,  _

_ I’m asking myself why I’m continue to write when you’re still so young and I’m sure your father is only tearing these letters up and throwing them away. In the chance that you ever see this and we still aren’t together please know that I haven’t forgotten you. At this time I’m staying with a family in London  who have offered me a job at a flea market. They aren’t the nicest of people, but I don’t plan to stay here very long. In the meantime I’ve been teaching myself how to use these funny things called tarot cards, which is what they use over here to try to tell the future. It isn’t quite the same as home but the locals seem to like it. Every penny I make is going toward an a place of my own. Please know that I never wanted to leave you. It breaks my heart whenever I think about how each passing day is time I’m losing with you, to be a part of your life. I was scared at first, and I felt terrible about that, being afraid of you, but my roommate here tells me most new mothers experience some form of fear. What I’ve come to realize is that doing it alone was what was scaring me the most, that I wouldn’t have the resources and that I couldn’t be the best I could be for you, mijo. But I’m ready now and as soon as I am able, I’m going to do everything in my power to appeal the original custody agreement so that we can live together again somewhere far away from here. I think of you every day, and I will see you soon.  - With love, Mom _

“Home?” 2D scratches his head. “Where was home do you think?”

Murdoc’s hand quivers as he looks down at the paper. As old memories of his father jeering at him about how his mother had tried to  pawn him off or how she couldn’t wait to sign the papers in court to “get rid of him,” he isn’t quite sure whether it’s out of relief or anger.

“It’s a lot.” 2D continues. “A lot for one letter.”

Shaking himself out of his unwelcome reverie, Murdoc pulls out the next three letters. “It isn’t that much. She doesn’t even say how she ended up in the states, or why she thought moving farther away would bring her closer to me. None of this makes any bloody sense.” 

There’s more than one letter from the Queens address, three in total. 

“So she kept writing even though she suspected you would never get them. No offense, Murdoc, but I think I agree with you. It doesn’t really make sense.”

“The moving away is what doesn’t make sense. She wrote to me because she wanted me to know she loved me!” Murdoc says, irritability in his voice. “Have you ever been involved in a custody agreement? She probably couldn’t see me or even call. Fuck. And I know my deranged father probably wasn’t sending her anything. What else was she supposed to do?” He’s shaking again, surprised at the force behind his words. He had just said that she loved him. So that was something he believed now, apparently.

“I’ve been involved in a lot of custody agreements, actually.” 2D corrects him. “I just always tell them they can have them and I’ll provide the financial help and then we leave each other alone. It’s fast.” 

Right. 2D was so distanced from his children that Murdoc often forgot he was a father. Now, he thought about that fact with a perspective he had never once considered. “You’re a terrible person.”

“Some people aren’t meant to parents.” 

“Yet you can’t shut up about all the kids you tutored in keyboard back in Crawley.”

“Parenting isn’t just playing with kids. You need to be the full package and...I don’t know that I am or that I want to be.” 2D nudges his shoulder. “But enough about me and all that. I don’t want to argue about it. I want to know what her other letters say.”

“Fine.” 2D was right. Murdoc knew he wasn’t winning any argument over who was, by conventional standards, the “better” person. So he unfolds the first letter from New York and before he can even read what’s on the paper, a pair of pictures fall onto the bed. “Shit!” He jerk backwards as if they had shocked him.   


2D picks them up and looks at them. His eyes widen. 

Murdoc freezes completely. 

“Look,” 2D says, turning the first picture around to reveal a pigeon sitting on a nest. “Do you think it’s Gizmo’s old nan? It’s got the same brown spot on the tip of its wing.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Murdoc swipes them both out his hand. “You’re acting you just saw-” He stops when he catches a glance at the second picture. He sees a woman, face obscured by shoulder length black hair and a scarf, standing with her arms folded in front of her.  She’s at a distance but facing the camera. He recognizes the background as Washington Square. “....Her.” He turns the photo over and reads ‘February 19th, 1968.’

2D leans over to look. “Wow. So..that’s her. She’s, uh, she’s really pretty?” He asks, searching for something to break the tension. “Murdoc?”

She’s so far away he can’t get a clear view of her. In a way, he’s relieved at this because despite it all, he can pick out parts of himself in her posture, her visible facial features, even her choice of wardrobe. The smile on her face reminds him of how he used to smile when he was very young, and he wonders whether he could ever access that part of himself again. He’s never known her, yet she’s so familiar. Had she been posing any closer and in clearer view, he’s certain it would have driven him back to bed. In a way, he’s grateful for the distance.

In his other hand, is the letter.

_ Dear Murdoc, _

_ Greetings from New York. I know you would love it here because of how much there is to explore. A lot has happened since my last letter and not all of it planned. I didn’t want to leave Britain without you but I could not spend another day in that home. And, having lost correspondence with my parents - you grandparents, I feel like I am simply floating around in the world on my own. However, not all of it is bad. I’ve found a place, somewhere much more affordable with a kind landlord. He’s a professor of Foreign Languages and Literatures at New York University down in Greenwich Village and he was very taken with some of the books I brought with us before we left home. He’s reading through my copy of Yawar Fiesta and says he wants to move on to Arana and Bentine next. In turn, I’ve been spending a lot of time on the roof of my new home. He raises pigeons up there and I’m sending you a picture of one that I named, Antonio, after Antonio Machado. He’s one of the new poets I’ve discovered through Mr. Cohen, my landlord, since moving here. I never paid much attention to Spanish writers, and frankly, I think the University curriculum would benefit greatly from including more South American writers, but I had to admit, the verse, ‘I have walked down many roads, I have cut many new paths, I have sailed in a hundred seas, and docked in a hundred shores,’ sticks with me. It feels like it was written by someone who knows exactly what my journey has been. I’ve been thinking more about that recently- the paths we fall into in life, how different worlds collide, destiny. Even with this distance between us, I feel more hopeful than I’ve been since I lost you. I hope you get to read this and know I’m thinking about you and sending my love (and reading recommendations!).  - Love, Mom _

He rests the letter in his lap, silent. 

“Alright then, home is South America- no wait, we knew that already didn’t we?” 2D swipes his phone screen to unlock it. “I’m just going to google some of these names and…”

“So what the hell happened?” Murdoc wants to sink into the bed. “She gets what sounds like a sick deal in the states, a direct connection to school - he said she wanted to got to school, didn’t he? She gets to spend all her time naming pigeons, dallying about in the village so what gives?” 

He rips open the next letter and another picture of a bird falls out. Glancing at the letter, he reads,  _ His name is Cortés. Pete named him after Hernán Cortés the famous conquistador. If I’m being honest, I despise what his namesake stood for, but he’s a bit of the adventurer, like us. Also, I’ve always loved the name. _ “Why would she leave? How did this not go exactly how she said she was planning it?”

“Peru.” 2D says. 

“What?”

“All of those writers she listed. They’re all from Peru.” 2D taps on his phone a bit more. “So maybe that means..uh, maybe that’s home.” He looks from his phone to Murdoc and squints. “You know, I think I can see it.”

Murdoc shakes his head. “No. No way. I can’t…” He could have family there, he realizes. “There’s no way - she was alone!” He says it out loud to drill it into his head, to keep himself from daring to consider anything else. 

“I know!” 2D says excitedly. “There’s no way she was alone!”

Murdoc shoves the letters back into the box. “That’s not how I meant it!” 

“Murdoc, this is really something.” There’s nervousness and amazement in 2D’s voice.  “Something big. You really could still have other family out there - brothers, sisters, grandparents. Do you think she might mention them in some of the other notes she wrote? We could look ahead.” 

Murdoc gulps back the tightness in his throat. He had only just seen a glimpse of his mother for the first time and that alone was nearly driving him to forget the journal, kick 2D out of the room and bury himself under the covers. “The only place I’m looking is the other side of my covers,” he says, placing the top back on the box and promptly sliding it under his bed. “I’m done for the day.”

“Oh.” It’s as if he had taken a safety pin to the balloon that was 2D’s enthusiasm. “Al-alright then,” he says, deflated. “But...it’s just the letters you’re done with...not our meeting later today or the trip.”

Murdoc takes another drink of his beer and begins to crawl around 2D and back to the pillows at the head of the bed. “Let me get back to you on that.” 

2D doesn’t protest of berate him for his actions, and for that he’s thankful. Instead he moves back to his bed and turns the volume of the TV back up - he must have turned it down at some point while Murdoc was dozing earlier in the morning - to an audible level. “So I’ll be here when you’re ready...if you’re ready. Just let me know. Otherwise I’ll, uh, just keep watching  _ Sharknado. _ ..again.”

Grumbling, Murdoc handwaves him away.

* * *

 

“I can’t believe I’m doing this again.” Murdoc regards the now familiar steel door of the elderly man’s apartment. 

“I can,” 2D says knowingly. “And I’m glad you are.”

It wasn’t like he had much of a choice. First, he had tried asking about reading 2D’s journal entries, been refused because he “still hadn’t contributed anything himself and those were the rules” so then he tried to sleep. He spent three hours lying in bed while being plagued by anxious thoughts about who he was, questions about his mother and who she was and his usual self-loathing had worn him down. The continuous background noises from the monster movie 2D was where the final straw. It finally dawned on him that he wasn’t going to be sleeping again anytime soon nor would he be alone to stealthily read what 2D has written about him so, in defeat, he got up and told 2D to get moving. 

“Just remember the positive affirmation mantra we came up with.”

“The positive affirmation mantra  _ you _ came up with. You owe me three pages of journal entries for this AT LEAST.”

“I’m going to be okay because I’m resilient and creative and brave. I can do this. My mum loves me,” 2D says anyways. “Okay, now we say it together.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Murdoc says, exasperated. “I’m  _ never _ saying that.”   


Fortunately, the door is answered before they have times to argue any further. The elderly man leads them back to the same living room area they had sat down in a day earlier. This time, there are three wine bottles on the coffee table. He comes back to them with a moderately sized storage box.

“She didn’t tell me where she was moving, but she couldn’t take everything. She left me with some of her belongings- some books, photos, a journal of hers.” 

Murdoc looks at the box suspiciously. 

“She also didn’t leave me with any directions about what to do with them so I kept them in storage. I didn’t know why at the time, but…” He smiles at Murdoc warmly, I’m glad that I did.”

His thoughts race at an overwhelming, rapid pace. Could there have been some way that she knew he would look for her one day? Was she planning this?  _ No, this is another one of your delusions.  _ “Can...can I get some fresh air?”

“On the roof?” 2D asks.

It wasn’t exactly what he was thinking but his brain wasn’t working fast enough to give him any other ideas. “Fine.” He grabs the wine and the box. “I...I just need some space right now.  _ Alone. _ ” He looks at 2D specifically while saying that. “Give me...thirty.” 

Not wanting to wait for a response, he goes to the rooftop by himself. When he gets there, he sees that it’s far less furnished than was apparent in the dark. The cages are the only pieces of furniture outside of one lone table and some plants. “View’s still nice,” he mutters to himself as he sits down on the cement between two of the cages, jumping slightly as one group birds flutters away in surprise, sending heaps of feathers and dust in his direction. It didn’t matter, he was hidden from immediate view.

He pulls the cap off the box. At a glance, there’s nothing remarkable inside. It’s like the elderly man has said- books, books and more books. He recognizes some of the authors from his mother’s letter.

On either side of him, the birds coo and cluck among themselves. One walks right up to the edge of the wiring beside his face and stares at him. He glares back. “What are you looking at?” He had just found refuge away from 2D unsubtle gaze and now he had a bird doing the same thing. 

Turning back to the box, he reaches for one the notebooks first and opens to the first page. It’s dated October 25th, 1965.  _ I don’t want to keep one of these, but grandma says it’s for the best that I start trying to bond with you, _ he reads. _ Hi, baby. I wasn’t expecting something like you to happen so soon, I don’t know how to feel about this or how it’s going to change my life, but I’m your mother. It’s the two of us now, and I don’t know what the future holds.  _

Murdoc closes that book quickly as another wave of the same familiar hurt feeling that had been so acutely present throughout the past month turns his stomach.  _ No one wanted you _ , he hears the voice say. He tips the bottle of wine back and shakes his head. Then he grabs another journal.

Out pour more pictures, into the box and onto his lap. It’s at that moment that he finally sees her face in a photo that had fallen on his left knee. It’s both of them. She’s in a hospital bed, he assumes in hospital where she gave birth, and he’s fast asleep in her arms. She’s smiling down at him in a way Murdoc isn’t sure anyone ever has. Her face is clear and he can see himself in her even more now, in her cheekbones and eyebrows and shape of their chins. She shares the same thick, dark hair but in general, her face is softer than his and less weathered. 

_ She wasn’t fucked up right out of the gate like you were. She’s actually normal. _

He drinks again and gathers the other photos. The elderly man hadn’t been lying. So many of them feature him. There’s one of him with a stuffed teddy bear, one of him on a blanket outside in what appears to be a park, and another of him bundled up in a vibrant blue, red and purple blanket. Murdoc assumes it must have come from Peru because the design isn’t like anything he had ever seen around Stoke.

Against what his head is telling him to do, he grabs the second journal. There isn’t so much writing in this journal as there is art - pigeon sketches, specifically. He lets out an exasperated sigh. 2D was never going to shut up about the birds now. He keeps flipping through, passing by sketches of eggs, the view from the roof, and less specific drawings such as sketches of the ocean and different sized waves. Then, something catches his eye and he stops. There are sketches of plants now, herbs he doesn’t exactly recognize but what he does recognize is the drawing of the solar cross. 

He turns the next page more slowly and finds frantic, illegible writing interspersed  between and around symbols he immediately recognizes as the Theban alphabet. Gulping, he keeps turning. There are still pigeons sketches, but now there are also lists of herbs, sketches of different animals parts, and more birds - condors, hawks and ravens.

Finally, he arrives at the last page. It’s just another ocean drawing with a single bird flying over it and another phrase he can’t make out. He left his glasses in the hotel room this morning, but he’s sure even with them, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. He read the words, “buscar en” but the rest is illegible.  _ Search in... _

He closes the book, a new and different sort of fear edging its way into his head."Search in where?" he says to himself.  


Beside him, his phone buzzes. It’s 2D.  _ Can we come up? It’s been over a half an hour. _ He doesn’t  even bother unlocking his phone to reply. Instead, he leans back against the wall and stares at the sky, clear and blue, the sun, warm. Then he hears the voices.

“I just want you to know I’m not claiming I knew everything about her. As close as we were, she was very private.” It’s the old man. “I could always tell there was a lot she was thinking about, but I never knew what.”

“I never know what’s going on in Murdoc’s head either.” That was 2D. Murdoc catches a glimpse of his hair as his head emerges from the stairwell. “I guess that’s why they’re related.”

“You don’t even know what’s going on in your own head ninety percent of the time,” Murdoc grumbles. He’s trying to maintain a front.

“Was she as cranky as Murdoc always is?” 2D asks. Murdoc rolls his eyes. 

“Whenever she wasn’t feeling well, she would stay in her room. I never saw her express those kinds of emotions even though I knew she felt them.”

“If the room part is true then they’re even more related than I thought.”

Murdoc is about to direct another sharp retort his way when he’s interrupted by a splatter on the journal in his hand. When he looks down, he sees bird poop. “Shit!” He digs around in his jacket pocket for something to wipe it off with. 

“Wow. It’s happened again,” 2D comments, waving to the bird as it flies past them. He pulls out a handkerchief from his own pocket and offers it to Murdoc. “And on a day like today. They really do like you.” 

“Who likes him?”

Murdoc grabs the cloth from him and begins to scrub. “This whole trip has to be the universe playing some demented fucking joke.”

“Birds,” 2D answers. “Birds poop on Murdoc quite often. It’s supposed to be good luck, which I would think is a good thing. They keep doing it, too, so I’d say they’re pretty fond of him.”   


“It’s disgusting, that’s what it is.” From his seat on the ground, Murdoc tosses the poop covered handkerchief back at 2D and  gets up abruptly, startling some of the birds with his movement. “I don’t fucking need this right now!”

“The thing is,” 2D continues as he folds his handkerchief back into his pocket. “I’m not sure Murdoc is the best at recognizing when something or someone is fond of him.” Then he leans closer to the birds in the cages. “It’s okay,” he reassures them, and follows it up with a string of strange cooing sounds.

“What’s with you and talking to animals?” Murdoc snaps as he stalks back over to the guard rails, back turned. “They don’t understand you.” 

“They say they’re worried about you and that they understand me completely.” 2D says. “You look grumpy. Did something...go wrong?”

Murdoc is too preoccupied to come up with a witty comeback about 2D’s bird communication skills and doesn’t bother turning around. “What else is new?” 

Seeming to understand that any further questioning was not going to get him anywhere, 2D asks the other man, “I know you didn’t read anything in the box she left but..when Murdoc’s mum left, did she seem upset at all?” 

“She always seemed encumbered by something, but that was how she was when she moved in here. We talked over some of it like her wanting to back to school, finding a larger place. She was planning to apply to NYU the following year, and I was going to help her through the application process but when the time came she told me there was somewhere else she had to be in order to make things right. I don’t know after that.” 

Murdoc remains hunched over the edge of the building as they talk. He doesn’t know if he should tell 2D about what he found in the journal, or what it might mean. He isn’t even sure he knows what it means. Was his mother trying to reunite them by dabbling in charms and curses? That wasn’t how magic worked and he assumes she must have known that. It doesn’t make sense. He lights up a cigarette.

“So if you open the cages, will the birds fly out or…?” 2D’s already moved onto another subject. “Okay, forget I said that. What I want to ask is: can I hold a pigeon?”

“Of course you can,” the old man says. “They’re used to people.” He leads 2D over to one of the cages and opens the door. “Just reach out your hand and let one of them come to you.”

“Do you want to hold one, Muds?” 

Murdoc only grunts in response.

“Your friend has a lot to think about. It might be best to let him be.” The elderly man addresses Murdoc next. “The box is yours if you want it. I’m happy to keep it if not but I feel like it’s served its purpose in my home, so I have no need for it now.”

“What did she say about me?” The question comes out before Murdoc can stop himself.

“I’m sorry?”

Murdoc turns around to see them standing by the cage. Already, 2D has about three different birds on his shoulders and arms. “You said the only way you were able to get to know her was by talking about me. What did she say?”

“Well, she gushed about your laugh and your smile. According to her, you had an endless amount of energy, always crawling everywhere and everywhere. You also love your stuffed animals and had a favorite teddy bear she picked out for you from the toy shop down the street from the hospital where she gave birth. She had traveled a long distance while she was pregnant with you to reunite with you father with the intent to start a life together in some capacity.”

Murdoc stamps the cigarette out on the railing. “See, that’s what I don’t understand. If she went to all that effort then she must have thought my dad was some kind of good, responsible person, that somehow, relocating to Britain with  _ him _ would somehow make our lives so much better. That doesn’t make any fucking sense.” There were two rationalizations he can think of - either his mother was a terrible judge of character to the point of stupidity or that perhaps his father wasn’t always the person he knew him to be. Both options scare him but the latter is flat out terrifying.

“The impression she gave me was that she didn’t think she could raise you alone - you were her first child and she wanted the best life for you that she could manage. She refused to talk about your father in much detail. Whatever happened between them devastated her, I do know that; and she regretted it every day. But you...she said she felt like her life didn’t really begin until you came along.”

A pigeon flies off of 2D’s should and onto the guard rail beside Murdoc’s hand.

“ _ Love is a bird, she needs to fly, _ ” he sings. 

Murdoc glares at him. “We are  _ not  _ doing this here.” Then he shoos the bird away. “And I’m definitely not in the mood for that either.”

“Okay, but you should try meditating on that song,” 2D says. “I think it would be helpful. And the bird just wants to be friends.”

“Not everyone love animals,” the elderly man says.

“But animals always seem to like him. I think they tend to like me a bit better as a rule, but a good bit of them also like Murdoc.” 2D tilts his head to the side, inquisitive. “And he gets all the bird poop, too. It’s strange.”

“You think I don’t wish they’d shit on you instead?”

“Aw.” His tone, like the pigeon, flies right over 2D’s head. “That’s so nice of you.”

Murdoc slaps a hand to his forehead but chooses to ignore him. He takes a deep breath. “Anyhow, did she ever say anything about...er, her writing? About the journals, or that she was writing to me?”

“She carried a journal around with most places but again, she never offered any information and I never asked. I went with her to the post office a few times to mail some letters. The only thing I knew about the letters was that she was using them to communicate with your father but she never received any response from him.”

“So she said they were for my father, and not for me?”

“I never asked because I don’t like to pry. I just knew they were letters, but now that I think about it, it would make sense if some of them were for you since you have them with you now.”

“And she never said anything about her family?” It was his family too, he remembers from their conversation at the hotel. “Or how she met my father in the first place, or what she did when she was alone in her room?” What was she doing with all those occult symbols in her writing? Why didn’t she tell anyone? What did it have to all be dumped on him now? It had been years since Murdoc had dabbled in any of that, no thanks to his band mates, and he wasn’t as sharp at deciphering what he saw and he hadn’t brought along any of his own literature. He can feel himself starting to shake again.

“She was very close with her grandmother, but she had been of poor health when your mother left home and she wasn’t sure whether she was still alive. Her parents were distant.” The old man sighs. “I wish I had more information that you were looking for. If you wanted to hear more stories about her time here in New York, I could tell you. Unfortunately, she was guarded about her personal life.”

If there was nothing else known about her writing then he didn’t want to spend another moment there. “I’ll be taking that box of her stuff then,” Murdoc says. “I’ll take that and go.”

“Go?” 2D says, now with at least seven birds on his person. “Go forever?”

“Yes,” Murdoc says as he goes back to the bird cages to pick up the box. “I’m going.”   


“Are you sure you asked everything you wanted to ask?” Why did 2D have to keep asking him questions? They had been through this before. 

Murdoc hugs the box to his chest afraid that somehow, they would realize he was hiding something. “I don’t care, I don’t even know if I want to ask anything anymore.” 

2D’s expression is a mixture of worry and puzzlement. “Can we call you if we think of anything?” 2D asks the man. 

“Anything you need,” he replies. “It was a pleasure to meet both of you. And I hope you settle on the chords for that song of yours.”

Immediately, Murdoc wheels back around. Song? He leaves 2D for a half an hour and he spills details about their song? 

“And you, Murdoc,” the man says. “You’re friend was telling me about what brought you two here. This is a long journey you’re electing to pursue. You’re very brave for that. Whatever you find out from here, please know that you’re mother loved you. I wish you the best.”

Murdoc can only nod before rushing down the stairs, frantic for the nearest exit.

* * *

 

“What’s wrong, Muds?” 2D asks as he catches his breath. 

They’re blocks away from the apartment now, and Murdoc has slowed to a regular walking pace. 

“I...I don’t know. I don’t know how the fuck to make sense of any of this! And what the fuck is this about you sharing our song?”

“I didn’t share the song. I told him we were writing something and that I was caught between two chord progressions. That’s it! We had a half an hour just sitting in his living room, I wasn’t going to just ignore him.”

Murdoc doesn’t answer and keeps walking, a scowl set firmly on his face.

“But it isn’t the song is it?” 2D asks. “Was it something you found in the box? Can you tell me?”

“I can’t do this.”

“You can. Remember what we came up with- you’re going to be okay because you’re resilient and creative and brave. Your mum loves you.”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” What he thinks he might be craving is the warmth he felt from 2D the night before, from his fuzzy memory of their time in Jamaica, despite how brief both moments were. Something to remind him that he was somehow deserving of a human contact the wasn’t rough or angry. He isn’t sure he can believe it on his own just yet and he doesn’t know how to ask for it. 

“Could you give me a word? Anything? Can you text it to me?” 2D waits. He waits until he realizes he’s hit another dead end in the conversation.

Murdoc shakes his head. “I....think what I need is a drink.”

“A drink,” 2D repeats back. 

“Exactly.” Murdoc tries to force a smile through his internal emotional turmoil. “We’ll do - what did you call it? Old times? I’d be up for that again tonight, in need of it, really. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 2D had been so enthusiastic about yesterday and this was his best attempt at trying feel and appear okay.

The singer scratches his head in thought. “It was nice, Muds, but...I don’t know. I don’t know if that’s the best thing...for you...right now.” 

“Can we drop this whole ‘what’s best for me’? Do you know how bloody unnecessary that is?”

“What I’m try to say is...what if we did something new instead?”

“Like what?” What could possibly be better for him than what he did last night?

2D holds up his phone. “So I’ve been reading this website, Yelp, and...I was thinking…” He seems nervous. “We could go out...to eat.” 

“What?” They don’t go out to eat often. Not together, not as a band, not really in any sort of combination. The last time they went to dinner as a group that Murdoc can remember was Noodle’s thirteenth birthday. 2D had just taken his pain medicine and had spent the entire night nodding out which Murdoc remembers using to his full advantage finding new and “creative” ways to wake the singer up including but not limited to throwing pepper in his face, drawing on him and popping balloons Russel had put together for Noodle right by his ear. Sometimes Noodle laughed at his antics. Russel alternated between trying to redirect her and yelling at Murdoc. Somehow, by the end of the night, the tablecloth ended up on fire. They didn’t stay in that restaurant very long. 

“We go out to dinner. You and me, just the two of us,” 2D says. “And not at some half restaurant half bar type of place like the first hotel. Somewhere...nice. Let’s see, are you in the mood for, Italian? There are  also a lot of Asian restaurants around here.”

He wants to go to wherever the nearest happy hour is. “2D, look, you’re thinking about this too hard. None of that is necessary either. I’m not looking for nice right now.”

“Okay, but we tried what you wanted yesterday. We should try something I want today. Just once.” The singer averts his eyes back down to his phone as he quietly adds, “And I think you deserve nice.” 

“You wanted to do what I wanted yesterday too!” 

“I know but…” The sentence hangs in the air as 2D thinks. “How about this - we go and we use the time to plan out where we’re going next, what kind of car we’re going to rent, you know, planning stuff. And we get a fancy meal of top of that. That gets everything out of the way so you don’t have to think about it for the rest of the night.”

Murdoc meets 2D’s gaze. It’s enthusiastic and eager. For whatever reason, he’s fully committed to this idea of them going out to eat. “Fine. Just pick...whatever place. I don’t care.”

He didn’t think it was possible but 2D’s face brightens more. “Alright! So it’ll be a surprise then.” He unlocks his phone again and starts tapping away. “Okay, you’re going to love this.”

But Murdoc doesn’t love it. 

2D leads them to a Thai restaurant about a block away. It’s small, but Murdoc can tell from the expensive photography on the wall and the kind of people eating there that the restaurant was, by conventional definitions, “fancy.” At the center of their table is a stalk of bamboo in water. But none of that matters to Murdoc. What matters is their drink menu.

“Where’s the alcohol?” He’s distraught as he flips the same menu pages back and forth. 

“It’s BYOB,” 2D says, not bothered at all. “But lucky for us, I borrowed a bottle of wine from Mr. Cohen’s house. It should be plenty.”

“You didn’t tell him you were doing that did you?”

“Well he offered it to us…”

“I can’t believe you stole booze from a senior citizen,” Murdoc says harshly. He doesn’t actually care that much but he might be able to use it as leverage. “And I can’t believe you tricked me into this- going to a place with no liquor license, surrounded by serious people dressed in business attire.”

“It’s supposed to have the  _ best _ Thai curry in the neighborhood. That’s your favorite isn’t it? And the ambience is very zen. Just give it a chance.” 2D sets the wine bottle on the table. “Here. Have at it. There’s a place next door where you can buy more if you’re that desperate, too. Just...please?” 

Murdoc can feel his eyes searching all over him - his expression, his body language anything, to figure out the right thing to say or do. The thing is, Murdoc wasn’t sure even he knows that answer. He just wants something to take it all away.  _ Try to trust him, he hasn’t let you down yet _ , he freezes. He had never had a thought like that before.  _ Yeah but he will, nobody likes you, nobody’s ever liked you or wanted you.  _ He starts breathing again. That was more like it. “Yeah, well, I have a family now and maybe they did,” he mutters under his breath in response as he pours himself a glass of wine.

“What?” 2D raises an eyebrow.

Murdoc looks back at him equally puzzled until it registers. “Nothing! I’m just...oh you know.” He points his head. “This again.” His thoughts alternate between 2D, his journal and what had happened last night and the symbols in his mother’s notebook, her face, her family that was now his family. Then, lingering on the periphery was the band, his music, his future. “I guess it’s like you said yesterday. It’s...a lot.”

2D nods as he pours himself a glass as well. “You don’t have to tell me that.”

“And sometimes I don’t know. Maybe it’s too much.” He cringes inside as he hears his voice says those words. “Everything I do outside of music is a bloody disaster. I know we never say it, but it’s true.”

“Actually, we’ve all said that at some point,” 2D says.

“Whatever. So if this is just going to lead to another fuck up then why am I doing it?” Maybe being that person who sat in his room all day was better for everyone. He didn’t like that person but at least it was a familiar sort of dislike. “We could just go back...go back and pretend this never happened.”

“Hmm,” 2D says. “No thanks.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one subjecting yourself to this bloody mental torture.” Murdoc says as he points to the entree he wants on the menu and hands it to their waiter. 

“You weren’t happy,” 2D says. “You said it yourself back in Britain. And since then, even though I know it’s been difficult I’ve….I’ve seen you laugh, like  _ really _ laugh, and smile and...be sad...all these sides to you that I haven’t seen in awhile. I’m seeing something in you that makes me feel...” 2D stops. “I, uh, don’t really know how to say it.”   


Murdoc gulps down his wine. ”Alright then...” He’s trying to remain casual but what 2D is saying is making his palms sweaty.

“What I’m trying to say is- something got you this far in the first place right?”

“Hell if I know.”

“So maybe it isn’t such a bad idea to keep trusting it.” There’s some more conviction behind his voice now. “ And you know what? It’s not all about you. I wasn’t doing anything that exciting either.”

“Therapy, yoga, eating, keyboard adjustments,” Murdoc lists. “Really boring, yeah, but isn’t that what you always wanted?”

“To an extent. I  _ do  _ enjoy a relaxed way of life but you forget I like doing things too.” They have their meals now, and 2D is talking to him between mouthfuls of noodles. “And it still didn’t feel right, you know? I was itching to write that new music just as much as you were because when we wrote together, we were...I don’t know. Happy? And I was willing to grasp onto anything to just…” Another sentence, left open. He moves the focus back to Murdoc. “Besides, you’re Murdoc Niccals. Since when is anything too much to handle for you?”

Murdoc frowns down at his plate, moving pieces of chicken around with his fork. 2D was trying to corner him by using his past boasts against him. He doesn’t have it in him to voice his doubt in himself again so he says nothing.

“And besides, Russel and Noodle think my vacation is going to last at least another month so we’ve got plenty of time to search for...whatever we find,” 2D adds. 

Murdoc twitches. Russel and Noodle. “Fuck! They’re probably spying on us right now. There’s no way you’re actually masterminding a fake vacation.” 

2D pulls out his phone and shows him his most recent exchange with Russel, a proud expression on his face.  _ Really swell day in downtown Puerta Vallerta _ , it reads.  _ Sure you are,  _ is Russel’s response.  _ Glad you’re having fun, _ is his follow-up text. In response, he sees 2D sent a thumbs up emoji, a emoji with sunglasses and finally, a palm tree emoji. 

“He doesn’t believe shit!” Murdoc grasps at his hair. “2D, I swear to Satan if he tracks us down…”

“He said I ‘sure was’ having a good time, we’re fine, Muds, completely fine. I promise.” 2D says. “...But I wish you weren’t so distrusting of them. You know they both would want to help in anyway they could.”

“That’s a load of fucking bollocks if I ever heard it,” Murdoc says. “Do you forget how I left things? This isn’t about trust, this is about basic common sense. It’s in my best interest to keep this as secretive as possible. The last thing I need is anyone ruining this or using it against me.”

“They would never do that, Muds.” 

“I have no idea what they would do. If I quit or ruin everything, I want to do it on my own terms, not because our drummer ambushes me in the middle of the night when you ‘accidentally’ leave your location on.” Murdoc pauses. “You do have that off don’t you?”

“It’s been off since I left.” 2D says, sounding somewhat insulted. “Why do you think I’m that stupid? They aren’t coming, they aren’t stalking us and they aren’t trying to ambush you. I understand that you don’t feel like you can trust them and now it’s sounding like you don’t even want to trust yourself but...can you at least trust me?”

Murdoc crosses his arms. “Well, in the span of one day you’ve already almost leaked our unfinished song, tricked me into going to a dry restaurant and now you show me how terrible a job you’re doing at keeping this entire trip a secret.” At this point, however, he doesn’t have much of a choice. The truth was, it was more likely than not that Russel and Noodle knew something wasn’t right. It was just a matter of keeping them away. And only 2D, who was staring at him with a hurt expression, could do that. Softening his tone, he says, “You know what, fuck it. Just don’t let them follow us, don’t mention me...keep them away.” 

His response seems to satisfy the singer. “Of course. That’s what I’ve been doing.”

Still feeling antsy, Murdoc pulls out his lighter and a cigarette. The likelihood of smoking being allowed is slim, but he hasn’t felt an urge this strong in awhile.

“Are we okay then?” 2D asks. “Truce?”

Murdoc shrugs. “Truce.” 

“Also, can you pass one of those over here?” 2D motions towards the cigarette. 

Murdoc stares at him. 

“To symbolize the truce!” 

Murdoc rolls his eyes but hands one over. “And I do trust myself,” he adds. 

“Okay then,” 2D smirks. “So which Murdoc do you trust more?” he teases.  


“Oh fuck off. You’re making me regret ever confiding in you about that.” Murdoc pours himself another glass. “What about you? I know this hasn’t always been fun for you. What are  _ your  _ feelings?”

2D waits until he finishes his current bite of noodles. “Sure. Right now I’m worried. I don’t want you to give up on this. Not after….”

Murdoc waits until he’s sure he isn’t going to finish his sentence. “Well, I can’t make any promises.” He thinks back to his mother’s journal and what investigating further could do to him, 2D and by extension, the band. He wants to know about his mother, possibly even meet her, but he isn’t sure how much risk that would involve. It was hard enough beginning to confront his past. Working with the occult, like many other endeavors in his life, never really worked out in his favor. “The amount of open ends in this thing- it might…be beyond me.” He’s said it out loud again. He takes a long drag from his cigarette to alleviate the embarrassment he feels. “You wouldn’t understand.  _ I _ hardly understand.”

“What did you find, Muds?” 2D asks. “Can you tell me now? You were sort of okay this morning but ever since we left Mr. Cohen’s you’re all on edge again.”

“I think...she might have gotten involved in things she couldn’t handle.” He sure couldn’t handle it when he was making deals and contacting spirits. He thought he could at the time, but that was just because he was drunk. But if his mother made mistakes like him, was there a change he was bearing the negative consequences without even knowing it?  _ There’s so much wrong with you, how do you think you’re going to figure this out? _

“We’ve all done that at some time or another,” 2D says. “If she’s out there, maybe we can find her and help her.”

“That not what I mean!” Murdoc goes to stab at another bite of chicken with his fork and finds his hand is shaking too much to keep a bite connect. “My brain does a lot of fucked up shit to me, you know that. Well...I don’t always know if it’s just me. Sometimes I see things, sometimes I remember things or dream things, and I don’t know if it’s real - my entire life this has been going on - and it gets to the point where it feel like it’s about to spontaneously combust and...if she was doing what I think she was doing…from what I saw on those bloody pages...maybe that means...” 

“What do her journals have to do with all that? What did you find?” 

Murdoc decides he doesn’t want to answer those questions. He doesn’t want to talk about the potential devastating effects his mother’s actions may or may not have had on them. If 2D could leave sentences hanging, so could he. “Do you remember when Russ’s dead friend - what was his name again? Del? Remember when he was exorcised out of his body and he kept going on about how he felt like a parts of him were being scattered around everywhere, like he was losing parts of himself and he didn’t know how to stop it?” Finally, Murdoc is able to get some food to stay on his fork but by now, he doesn’t want to eat it. “I think, I think I’m beginning to understand what he was getting at.”

Across the table, 2D does not appear to have arrived at the same revelation that he has, though he can tell he’s trying. “But,” he says. “But you haven’t lost anything. Well, except your dad but, uh...fuck him, right?”

“No!” Murdoc says. It comes out more loudly than he expects. “You don’t get it. I’ve been losing  _ everything  _ since I was born, before I even knew it. I’ve yet to skim the surface of how much I’ve lost and the more I search, the deeper the loss goes.” He can feel his foot tapping, restless. At least Russel knew what part of him went away. “All this time, I’ve been content identifying myself as the bastard son of chronically unemployed Sebastian Niccals, the neighborhood drunk but now...I’m not just that. I’m also the son of Rufina from Peru who traveled around the world doing all these odd jobs, living with all these strange people trying to find her son again...me. I don’t know who that part of me is. And now that he’s dead and she’s gone I don’t know if I ever will.” He didn’t like who he was just like he didn’t like who he was in Detroit, but at least he had, over time, learned to find a sort of twisted pride in it.

They sit silently at the table. 2D slurps noisily at his soda, and pensive look on his face, and Murdoc gazes out the window to their right at the people passing by. The hostess stops by and tells them they can’t smoke in the restaurant, and Murdoc sneers at her and drops the cigarette in the bamboo water. 2D smiles and apologizes, but once the hostess leaves he also very slowly does the same.

“I can’t really imagine what that all must feel like, Murdoc,” 2D says after a while. 

“I just want to be fucking hammered right now.” Murdoc continues looking out the window. “Or tripping. Or zoned out on a strong benzo. I love those. You just forget entire days on them.”

2D shakes his head. “Don’t say that. Look, It may not mean much to you, but...I like you how you are now, Murdoc. And I don’t mean that like I didn’t like you before or that I like seeing you upset or frustrated. No, it’s not that. You’re...more alive to me now that you’ve been in a long time, maybe ever and it’s brilliant, Murdoc. You’re brilliant. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but I can see you know, and I know that you’re seeing me right back...if that makes any sense.” 

It did and it didn’t. But there’s a strong pull he’s feeling between them, and he wonders if that’s what 2D is trying to describe to him. “Yeah...sure.”

“What if you didn’t think about all of this like it’s a loss and instead thought about it more like...change.” 2D continues. “And the big puzzle you have to figure out is what change you like and want to hold onto and what change you don’t. You know, sort of like songwriting...only like with words instead of change.”

Murdoc stares at him.

“Okay. Let’s maybe start with...what’s already there. When do you remember being at your happiest?”

“Pfft that’s easy.” Murdoc says. “The night we were offered our record deal, the first time I heard one of my songs on the radio, that final holiday we took in Jamaica after wrapping up the first album.”

As he’s talking 2D chokes on his drink. “What...What exactly do you remember about the Jamaica holiday?” he asks after a few awkward coughs. 

“The night life, the sun, the women, not being stuck on one everyone else's schedules, free to do whatever we wanted, when we wanted.” He closes his eyes and tries to imagine himself back there. “How many entire nights do you think we spent out there on the beach?”

“What do you remember about those ‘entire nights’?” There’s a hint of urgency in 2D’s voice that wasn’t there earlier. Whatever faux therapeutic direction Murdoc assumes he was trying to take their conversation at first seems to have been forgotten at this point. 

“Drinking. Sand.” Murdoc doesn’t want his mind to wander beyond that, but it does.  _ You hands, _ he thinks as he watches those same hands fidget nervously with the utensils they hold. But his memory is fuzzy. Maybe he had only dreamed it. “You know, the usual.”

“Here’s your check,” Their waiter says, placing the check presenter on the table. 

“Oh.” 2D shakes himself out of his trance. “I don’t remember asking for that but thank you.” Then he pulls out his wallet. He glances back at Murdoc. “So, uh, this didn’t go exactly how I envisioned it going but..I’ll get this.”

Murdoc polished off the rest of the wine in his glass. “Of course your getting it. It was your idea.”

2D sighs.

* * *

 

“So I can’t read your journal but can I ask you this? How did you ‘envision’ tonight going?” Murdoc asks as they walk back to the hotel from the subway. Free of restaurant rules, he pulls out his lighter and his pack of cigarettes.

“Like…” 2D stalls, grabbing a cigarette for himself. “...Never mind.”

“Going to leave another thought hanging then,” Murdoc teases. He’s surprised at how nervous his jab seems to make the other man, who fidgets with his lighter in his hand as if he’s never held one before this night. “Oh come on, I’m just taking a piss out of it all,” he adds. “I know, I know, we didn’t do anything you said we were going to do about the rental car or the next stop.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” 2D replies. Finally, he gets the lighter to work. “I mean, I do, but only if you still want to keep doing this.”

They arrive at the back door of the building and linger outside as they finish smoking. The sky is reminiscent of the sky Murdoc saw in Detroit that one night when the lyrics started coming back to him. He was alone then, alone and unhappy. Now, he isn’t alone and instead of unhappiness it’s confusion, anxiety and anger that he doesn’t know where to direct or how to manage. Alone and unhappy in Detroit provided him the freedom to ward of the other negative emotions by whatever means necessary. He no longer has that safety where they are now and it’s the first time he’s ever been so aware of how the familiar, no matter how miserable, could be so much more appealing than the unknown. The discomfort is so distinct it has him longing for the Murdoc he was mere months ago rather than years ago as he had been doing earlier in the trip.

“Can I be honest with you, 2D?” He blows some smoke towards the sky. “I do and I don’t and I can’t explain it to you right now. We’ll go to the next stop...”

2D follows suit. “Alright...so we rent a car.”

“But after that...I don’t know.”

“Okay, Murdoc.” 2D says, tone even, eyes staring straight at him. There’s a barely noticeable quiver there, as if speaking is taking a significant amount of effort. “Okay.”

Murdoc meets his gaze and when he looks into his eyes he sees himself, one hand shoved in his pocket, a cigarette in the other, expression grouchy and pensive. Then he sees the lights of the city blended in with the stars and it feels familiar, a warmer sort of familiar than his memories of himself.  _ Me _ . He’s probably the least exciting part of the reflection and he wonders what about the man he’s seeing looking back at him makes 2D want to stick around him. If he saw what he assumes 2D must see, he would have left that man behind a long time ago. He turns his attention back to his lighter. “So it’s settled then.”   


“Yeah,” 2D says. “I guess it is.”

They stand out there for another half an hour or so before 2D stamps out his cigarette and turns to go inside. 

“Are you coming?” he asks.

“I can’t sleep. You know that.” He hadn’t had nearly enough to drink that night for his sleep to be anything other than utter hell. He didn’t see the point. “I’m just going to stay here. I won’t do anything stupid...I promise.”

“Right.” The look on 2D’s face tells him he doesn’t entirely believe him, but he doesn’t argue with him any further and begins walking to the door. 

“Oh and 2D....” Murdoc calls. 

The singer turns back to look at him. 

For a moment, Murdoc stares back, the words clinging to his tongue in protest. But finally, it comes out. “...Thanks.”

Slowly, he sees a small smile creep it’s way onto 2D’s face. “Thank you, too, Murdoc,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

And with that he’s gone and Murdoc is alone. However, he decides that it’s a good sort of alone. The cacophony of city noises creates a unique and perfect setting in that it allowed for him to be alone while also drowning out his confused thoughts about 2D and his mother, his grating internal monologue and everything else about his brain that actively worked against him. 

The hand in his pocket fingers the letters inside. He has the next stop’s letters with him. At the time, he didn’t know what had compelled him to pull them but it all makes perfect sense to him now. He pulls them out and runs his finger over the address.  _ North Carolina. _

Could he really keep going? Was he on a direct path to some sort of closure or another breakdown? 

_ Remember our mantra? _ 2D’s voice comes back to him in fragments.  _ They’re positive affirmations. They help me get into a positive mood at the beginning of the day. _

“You can do this,” Murdoc mutters to himself, gripping the envelopes in his hand tighter. “You’re brave. She loved you. She loved you so much.” 

And he keeps repeating it. And repeating it.

“You can do this. You’re brave. She loved you. She loved you so much.” He squeezes his eyes shut and his voice cracks. “She loved you so much.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "mijo" = "mi hijo" = "my son" in case anyone was wondering.
> 
> Thoughts, feedback and concerns help keep me going and are greatly appreciated! I'm sorry it's been so long!


	9. Chapter 9

Twenty seconds _._

Murdoc takes another glance at the dashboard to check the gas before inching the car forward. It’s taking them twenty seconds, on average, of waiting before the traffic moves enough for them to move. It had been this way since they left New York late morning and between the amount of recycled air he’s been breathing in and the persistent ‘blips’ and ‘bloops’ coming from 2D’s phone, he was fast approaching his boiling point. With a frustrated growl, he abruptly steers into the far left lane, earning them an angry honk from the car behind them. “Fucker! Honk at me again and I’ll put it this car in park and really show you some fucking waiting!” he yells, even though he knows no one except 2D can hear him.

“In two miles, use the right two lanes to take exit 28A to merge onto I-64 E toward Norfolk/VA Beach.” It’s Google Maps.

He would have to merge all the way back over now, and in heavy traffic. And he might be able to do that if the car in front of him would just move up to fill in the gaps a little further, but of course it wouldn’t. “Move!” He slams his fist on horn and holds it there.

“Do you want me to drive?” 2D asks, not looking up from his own phone as he speaks. Murdoc’s road rage was a common occurrence on any long drive, even when he wasn’t driving.

“No, I want the rest of these drivers, these licensed drivers, to remember how to drive correctly and get out of my bloody way. Actually, you know what? Fuck it.” He pulls over onto the shoulder and speeds up to a comfortable forty miles per hour.

That tears 2D away from his phone. “Go back to the normal lanes, Murdoc,” he says. Oh, so now he cared. “It’s not safe.”

“I just want to get this over with.” Murdoc listens to him, but only because they’re also arriving at their exit. “I don’t know why I even promised this stop.” Why was he doing any of this?

2D just shakes his head and goes back to his phone.

Murdoc responds to him anyways. “Oh, easy for you to say.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“What do you do on that thing all day anyways? And now that I’m thinking about it, why is it always _my_ phone that has to be the Google Maps phone? Why do I have to be the one who has to sit here and realize how we aren’t going anywhere?” He honks as the car in front of him allows another car to merge in front of them.

“You might be surprised,” 2D says, ignoring his tantrum. “Believe it or not, there are still lawyers I’ve been corresponding with about your dad’s will and appointing your brother as executor of his estate and assets, getting him his Letters of Administration, which I have to do through his case worker the law office in Stoke since he’s still in prison. I’m also trying to make it so that legally, he can’t bother you anymore after this. It’s a complicated process.”

Murdoc has to fight off a shudder at the mention of his family. “Oh please,” he sneers. “His ‘will’ was a piece of paper!”

2D shrugs. “Still a will. I’m also trying to get past level 75 on Candy Crush.”

That, Murdoc decides, doesn’t deserve and answer. He chooses to stew in his irritation as he focuses on the road.

“And if you look at your phone you’d see we have, quite literally, gotten somewhere. Earlier this afternoon, we were in New York. Now we’re in Virginia.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“And if you really want to get into specifics,” 2D continues. “...the only scenario where you wouldn’t be ‘going anywhere’ is if you were to go back home.”

So that’s what he was getting at. Murdoc rolls his eyes and reaches for his flask, which had been resting in the cupholder.

2D eyes him, a judgemental tone in his voice. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Murdoc replied and defiantly, he takes a gulp. “You should feel lucky this is all it is.” He had to be somewhat coherent if he wanted to remember anything they found. That was all that was keeping him from fully binging and losing himself. “I don’t know why I even want to know any more…”

“I know it’s hard,” 2D says. “But we can make it...less hard. Right now, you’re making it quite hard. Harder than it has to be. Maybe we can’t make all the other stuff go away but let’s think about what you can control - you don’t have to use your phone as the GPS, you don’t have to drive. You and I…” His face brightens. “...could switch places. That way, you can be the one playing on your phone and I can be the one who gets to yell at traffic.” He ends his spiel appearing very pleased with himself, adding, “Yeah…that might be nice.”

“That’s a stupid plan.” He doesn’t want to listen to 2D right now. He had done that last night and it’s only left him more confused. More confusion is the last thing he wants.

“So you just want to keep driving and complaining.”

“Sounds about right.” He replies, swerving out of the way as he almost hits another vehicle that he assumes must have been in his blind spot. “You know, she could have at least picked places to live that didn’t force me to drive down one of the most crowded interstates in bloody fucking country!”

“Well, you know, we could have flown…”

“Recalculating,” says his phone.

Murdoc zeros in on the on screen. He had made the exit so why was it telling him he was wrong? Why was nothing easy? He makes another angry sound and pulls over into the shoulder again.

“Kidding,” 2D says, continuing on from the last thing he said. “How about this? We’ve got a USB port so I can hook the phone up to the speakers and use my streaming app account to find some good road trip playlists.” Then, brandishing a USB cord, he connects his phone to the dashboard.

Music? Brief scenes of all the previous time 2D has had command of the music flash before Murdoc’s eyes, and as 2D’s typing in his passcode, Murdoc tries to grab the phone out of his hand. “No, I’m going to do it. Your song selection has been shit this entire trip.”

Quickly, 2D hunches over and shield the phone with his body. “Nope. I offered you the passenger position just a minute ago and you turned it down. Oh, and it’s also my phone.”

Murdoc is livid. “That’s not how it goes! I’m the driver, _I_ get to pick what we listen to!”

2D ignores him. “Okay..searching ‘road trip’...There are so many...hmm…” He pauses and smiles. “Let’s go with this first one. It’s called ‘The Only Road Trip Playlist You Will Ever Need’...get ready for it aaand…” he presses play. “Here we go!”

Murdoc isn’t sure what he’s expecting but it isn’t the quiet, sad piano music that reaches his ears. “What the fuck is this?”

“Let’s give it a chance,” 2D says, nodding along to the song for emphasis.

“This isn’t a road trip playlist. This is some teenage girl’s diary set to music.”

“Uhhh, well, no…” 2D looks back down at his screen. “It’s actually ‘Chasing Cars,’ by Snow Patrol.’”

“It’s shit is what it is. Go to the next song.” Murdoc snaps.

2D blinks. “Are you sure? It could have the nice, calming effect that you need.”

“You know, if you’re going to insist on the singing and the music you could at least subject me to a song I actually _like_.”

2D huffs. “Okay, fine.”

The next song is a Steppenwolf song. That, he could tolerate.

2D continues to attend to various unknown tasks on his phone and outside of music, the car is quiet for awhile. Murdoc soon realizes the playlist isn’t following a specific genre or theme. Whoever made the playlist obviously just added any song they found with the word, ‘car’ or ‘drive’ in the title a called it a day. But it’s distracting enough. He only interjects when he wants 2D to skip something.

The GPS eventually takes them off the highway and onto the back roads. It’s then that Murdoc is able to speed up to a much more satisfying sixty miles per hour and they’re able to open the windows.

“So, um, Murdoc?” 2D gazes out the window, squinting as the wind whips his hair around his face.

“Hmm?”

“Um..last night...did you get any sleep at all? You were awake before I was. It was weird.”

“I was thinking.” He spent a good part of the night in the alley, smoking and ruminating. When he finally got back to the room he had dozed at most. There was a slim chance he had slept briefly, but not long enough to lose control. He was afraid of what the images he saw in his mother’s journal would do to his dreams. He would rather be awake and tired than startled awake and then uncomfortable, shaky and exhausted for the rest of the following day. 2D ought to be grateful he was as functional as he was. “What does it matter to you?”

“Were you thinking about the trip?” 2D asks. “About her? Or your family?” When Murdoc doesn’t reply right away, he adds with a grin, “...Did you have anymore memories of me?”

The last question causes a nervous turn in his stomach, even though he knows he’s only teasing. Murdoc glares at him. “Prat. You’re lucky I don’t make you hitchhike home for that.”

“I was joking!” Bravado gone, 2D is visibly flustered. “It was a joke. I thought it might maybe make you laugh...”

“Do I look like I want to laugh right now?” Murdoc allows his disheveled, tired-eyed appearance to speak for itself. “You want to know why I didn’t sleep? It’s because every time I think I understand something, it ends of being wrong or fucked up. It just fucks my own brain up more. Sometimes, I don’t even know if any of this is even real. You have no idea.”

“Then tell me. I can see how this has been wearing on you but I have to hear it from you. Right now, all I’m going by is her.” 2D shifts his eyes from him to the road ahead of them. “And look at how far she’s taken us, and what we’ve found. That _is_ real. You can trust in her a little longer, right?”

“How should I know?” He makes a quick assessment of their surroundings. “Look at where she’s leading us now - south.” The tall grass, the empty shanty neighborhoods, the various Calvary stagings planted on hills in the distance, he finds it unsettling, even more so when he remembers the occult drawings in her journal. “It doesn’t feel right.” Something is telling him he shouldn’t be here.

_You can do this. You’re brave. She loved you. She loved you so much._

His own words from the night before echo back to him. She did love him. He knows that. But it still doesn’t feel encouraging. The sinking feeling in his gut as he turns the car onto a dirt road leading them deeper into the pines makes believing it even more difficult. Knowing, he realizes, was only half of the battle, believing was the other. Inside, he wants to be able to believe. He wants to know what that feels like even though it seems so far away and obscured. Perhaps that was why he kept going.

“Why? Because you’re a Satanist and everyone here likes God and Jesus and that whole lot?”

“No, it’s because she was involving herself in-”

“In two miles, your destination will be on the right,” his phone interrupts him, and he’s grateful for it.

They drive down the road until they arrive on the property of a one-story wooden shack that looks like its been abandoned for years. The only thing suggesting that it hasn’t is the ‘for sale’ sign on the front lawn. Someone has to be keeping it, but just barely. Memories of their first stop back in England resurface as he parks next to a broken down truck that takes up most of the driveway along with mound of discarded furniture. Murdoc suspects they won’t be talking to anyone.

“Um, Murdoc?” 2D asks as they assess the house from the parked car. “If you really think this is going to be the last stop, uh, can I ask you something.”

Murdoc sighs. “Sure, fine, whatever.”

“Last night, when we got back from dinner and you said, ‘thanks’...” 2D fiddles with his seat belt buckle. “What did you mean?”

“Are you being serious? Just look up, ‘thanks’ in the dictionary and-”

“But what _for_?” 2D insists. There’s an intensity in his voice that takes Murdoc off guard.

“It’s one word! I can hardly remember the last hour, let alone why I said one word and not another. Why does it matter to you anyways?”

“Because I keep thinking about it.” Finally, he presses the down on the buckle, watching as the belt detaches. “I’ve been trying to forget about it the entire drive down, but it won’t leave me alone  and...this is the last thing I can think to do...ask.”

The sound of distant ringing causes Murdoc to look towards the porch. Wind chimes  litter the porch, hanging on the rails, from the ceiling. The crude, jagged shapes of the material tell him they were handmade. He decides he doesn’t like the sound. Then he thinks about going in the home by himself and he isn’t confident that he would be able to do it. How had he done anything? _You know,_ his voice reminds him.

After a longer pause he says, “It was thanks for…” Uncertainty stops his sentence. “Er, I guess it was a thanks for just…” He worries. He doesn’t know why. But he does. Still, through that worry, he knows that right now, he needs 2D. So he says it. “For just...being there...for everything.”

They sit in silence, watching as the wind blows the chimes around and the overgrown grass on the front lawn sways, each ruminating on what the other had just said. Murdoc can sense 2D looking at him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a small smile growing on his face, the same sort of smile he had on his face the night they went out. He wonders what he’s thinking.

“Kinda spooky,” 2D finally says, looking back at the house and signaling that whatever moment they were sharing is over. “There aren’t any other houses around. If you lived here you wouldn’t even have neighbors.”

“So what, we didn’t have any neighbors at Kong.” Relieved, Murdoc decides he’ll move on with him and gets out of the car.

“Yeah we did,” 2D says as he follows him. “Sort of. I always considered you and Noodle and Russel my neighbors because..you know, Kong wasn’t really a house, it was more like an apartment building.”

Murdoc gaze shifts from the porch to the door. “Right...” he says, already tuned out of the conversation. Determined, he pushes the eerie feelings aside and walks briskly to up the weathered porch steps. The doors of the last abandoned building they visited may have bested him last time but he would not be bested again.

“You’re breaking in?” He hears 2D call behind him.

“How else did you think we would get in?” And without another hesitation, he throws himself, shoulder first, into the door. Immediately, he notices the sharp, stinging pain. “Ow!”

The door doesn’t budge.

“Why don’t we see if the windows are open?” 2D suggests as Murdoc nurses his shoulder.

“Does your brain not communicate with your eyes?” Murdoc makes an overdramatic gesture towards the window. “They’re completely boarded up. And I’m not running into anymore walls.” The he remembers the car. “Or maybe...I could back the car up and just- bang!- give the homeowner some free demolition services.”

“Hold on,” 2D interjects. “The car is rented under my name and someone still owns this house...even though it doesn’t look like it. We want to get in but...we don’t want anyone to know we were in.” He rests his chin in his hand. “Hmm.”

Unhappy that he has to wait, Murdoc begins pacing back and forth, almost bumping into 2D a couple times. He only stops to test the boards on the window to see if they budge. They don’t. He twists the doorknob next and when it doesn’t open, he twists it harder. “Whoever own this junk heap clearly can’t be arsed to make it look halfway presentable. I don’t think they’re care if there’s another wall caved in on the side or if someone were to say...take an axe to the door. I’m getting into this bloody house!” If he pulled at the doorknob hard enough it had to yield. But it doesn’t, and its resistance has worse effects on him that he wants to admit.

It’s like he’s ten years old again, standing outside his home the first time his father inexplicably locked him out. He remembers how he banged on the door for hours until his father had come out, clearly high on some sort of stimulant telling him to ‘fuck off and think about what he has done’ only to slam the door in his face. Murdoc didn’t know what he had done and as it got dark he remembers how alone and invisible he felt as he wandered around in the streets. As his tugs become more desperate he feels those same fears creeping back, the ever-present, traitorous part of his mind using the memory against him. He wants to drive the car into the house even more now.

“I’m not going to stand here waiting hour or days for you to figure something out!” He exclaims.  His voice comes out more frantic that he wants it to, but he keeps pulling nonetheless. Better to look at the door than whatever reaction 2D is having.

“Wait, Muds, I think I’ve got it,” he hears 2D say. “Get a load of this!”

And suddenly, he’s met with the flash a razor-edged blade inches away from his face and 2D smiling as if he was offering him a bouquet of flowers and not brandishing a potentially deadly weapon.

Completely caught off guard and still reeling from his own memory, Murdoc is unable to stop himself from emitting a frightened yell. “Shit!” He exclaims. “Are you mental?”

2D lowers the knife immediately. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I think I just got a little overexcited.”

His tone is apologetic enough. Murdoc breathes in deeply and exhales, then he nods. “Just...watch you’re pointing that, mate.”

2D then crouches down so that he’s eye level with the keyhole. “I meant to point it here...but you were kind of in the way. I think with the right maneuvering, this lock will be easy.” He holds the knife up. “Out of all the flick knives around, I’d say I fancy this one the most. It’s a TAC Force and it hasn’t let me down yet.” He places the blade into the keyhole and begins to wiggle it, methodical in his movements. “

What, you pick locks for fun now?” Murdoc asks, watches in quiet awe . “Since when?”

“I looked it up on WikiHow years ago…I had my reasons. I don’t have much reason to pick locks now but that’s not all you can do with this knife. It’s also good for cutting cheese and opening mail.”

“And you’ve been carrying that around this entire time?”

“Well, yeah. I think it’s pretty cool so I feel pretty cool when I have it, like now.” 2D stops his work to look over at Murdoc. “You think I look pretty cool doing this, right? Like I’m a badass?” 

For a moment, Murdoc is at a loss for words until he realizes 2D is looking for some sort of approval from him. “Just pick the lock, 2D,” he says flatly, hoping the singer hadn’t noticed him gawking at him mere minutes ago.

2D turns back to the door quickly. “Yeah, okay, of course. I was definitely going to do that right now. Our brains were riding the same wave, uh, like on the same surfboard and...” He trails off when he realizes his stream of consciousness isn’t going anywhere and pushes the knife into the keyhole further.  “Okay..I think that’s as far back as it’s going to go. I’ll just wiggle it around some more until we hear a click. If we don’t hear anything then I’ll try between the space between the door and the frame...but this lock looks old so I don’t see why this way wouldn’t work.” As he’s finishing the final sentence, he’s validated by a short click and the creak of the door as it slowly opens.

Hesitant, they peer inside. It’s a small house, but the absence of lighting makes the interior invisible, giving the inside the appearance of a bottomless, dark void.

Murdoc hears 2D gulp beside him as the wind blows through the collection of wind chimes. He wants to show him how easy it is to waltz in but again, he notices the same eerie sense of danger he’s had since they arrived in the state. It’s a similar to what he was felt outside his own home back in Stoke, only then he knew that feeling was coming from him and he knew why he didn’t want to be there. This time, the trepidation seems to be coming from a force outside himself and he worries about what that might mean.

“Hey, Muds,” 2D sounds similarly nervous. “I know this isn’t your favorite thing to do before we go somewhere but...what did your mum say about this place?”

Right, the letter. Murdoc had been carrying it around in his pocket since last night. “Yeah…” He keeps his eyes focused on the darkness as he pulls it out. “I’ve got that right here.” He stares into the home until he’s taken the letter out of the envelope. Only then does he tear his gaze away.

There’s another picture in this one, this time of a mailbox he presumes must have been in front of the home at one point, along with the address number. The road is in the background. It’s the same road they drove in on, still dirt, still isolated. The letter is dated November 1st, 1968.

_Dear Murdoc,_

_I want you to know how devastated I am that I wasn’t able to send anything for your second birthday. I have hope that the decisions I’ve made will be worthwhile and that this will be the last birthday I miss. Still no word from your father but I hope he is still keeping these for you. Anyhow, as it has been, Machado was right. I have been traveling many roads. As much as I wanted to stay in New York, I’ve found a more affordable opportunity south. I’m living with a couple who I met in Greenwich Village and invited me to move here with them. They want to help me so we can see each other again, and I need all the help I can get. There are things we have in common. Otherwise, it’s very beautiful here, and very quiet. This picture is the view from the front lawn. I’m going to see you soon, Doc, I promise be it in person or in your dreams. Don’t listen to your father. Look over the sea. Love, Mom_

“Doc,” 2D repeats. “Why didn’t we ever think of that?”

Murdoc crumples the letter up and returns it to his jacket pocket.  “Waste of time. I was two. She isn’t going to go into detail of whatever the hell she was doing to a two year old especially since my father was reading what she was writing, too.” The fear only feels stronger now, but he does his best to ignore it. The only way they were finding out anything new was by going inside and rummaging.

“When you think about, ‘Doc’ makes more sense, you know? You just shorten your name by cutting out the first part. Who thought of ‘Muds’? Do you like ‘Muds’? If we’re getting technical it should be ‘Murd.’”

“Would you bloody drop it?” It’s enough to drive Murdoc set aside his hesitation and charge inside if only to get away from whatever tangent 2D was about to start. He stops shortly after when he realizes it’s dark and he doesn’t know where he’s going. 2D soon catches up with him.

They’re standing in a living room, sparsely furnished with old, broken down furniture. A single, circular rug lies in the middle of the room. Only the light from the open door behind them gives them any idea of the room’s layout until 2D turns on his phone light. “That’s better,” he remarks.

“It’s just an abandoned house,” Murdoc says, more as a way of trying to convince himself than anything else. Still, the eerie feeling stays with him and he nearly flinches at the sound of the floor creaking beneath him as he takes another step.

“Yeah, with all the furniture left behind.” 2D motions towards the next door frame which offer a glimpse of piles of dilapidated chairs, tables and stools. He sneezes. “I don’t think they dusted much either.” He shifts the light along the bare walls. “Or cared much about decorating.”

“Well don’t just stand there- look around.” He commands. They would look around and then leave and that would be the end of it.

However, there isn’t much further to look on the first floor. Besides the living room and the kitchen, there’s only a back porch and a door that lead to the basement. Going down into an ever darker place is the last thing Murdoc wants to do, but when he sees 2D walk ahead of him, obliviously cheerful, he follows.

Other than being nearly pitch black, the basement isn’t that much different from the top floor, just old furniture and dust.

Murdoc breathes a sigh of relief. “Well that’s that. We’ve got nothing.” He’s still disappointed, angry even, that he didn’t find anything but he’s willing to accept that if it means the negative feeling will go away. Underground it feels even more intense.

“Murdoc, wait.” 2D flashes the light up to the ceiling. “Look at where the wall is. It’s too close...but there’s no door.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The wall! There should be more basement but there isn’t. And look over here…” He flashes the light at the corner of the room and Murdoc feels his heart drop down to his stomach when he sees what looks like an incomplete, rough sketch of feathers. “There’s a drawing on the wall but this other wall cuts it off...there’s more room.” Then, without warning he runs back upstairs.

Murdoc follows him, heart racing. If there had been another door to leave by he would have done it but as it stood it was either follow 2D or stay in the basement and he wasn’t staying in the basement.

2D walks back to the living room and paces, shining the light on every part of the room until his foot gets caught on the carpet and he trips. “Ow.”

“Real smooth,” Murdoc comments.

Too engrossed in his search to comment back, 2D crawls around on the ground until his eyes lock on the upturned part of rug. Then he looks at Murdoc who stares back at him dumbly. He reaches for the rug pulls.

A door.

2D looks up at him again. _Should I open it?_ His eyes ask.

“There’s a lock,” Murdoc answers as if he asked the question out loud. As soon as the words leave his mouth he realizes there was no point in even saying that since...

“I’ve got my knife,” 2D replies, finishing his thought for him.

He had no choice then. Well, he did have a choice but if he left he would have to admit he was afraid and, despite everything 2D had already been through with him, he isn’t ready to do that. So he nods.

But he hasn’t been enjoying the darkness of the house and he’s feeling slightly faint imagining how much darker it will be in the basement. Dark like in his dreams. As 2D picks the lock and swings open the door he dig his nails into his palms to remind himself he isn’t dreaming and he isn’t hearing the ragged breath of a creature he can’t see. It’s familiar. Too familiar.

They have to descend down a ladder to get down to the basement. This time, Murdoc turns on his own phone light. Still their field of vision is limited and he only catches glimpses of different parts of the room. He takes note of how empty it seems, the dirt floor, the bare walls.

“Hey Murdoc…”

Once he reaches the bottom of the ladder he aims his light in the direction of 2D’s voice. Then he sees the wall.

Symbols. The same symbols as the one he saw in her notebook litter the wall along with drawings of creatures he doesn’t quite recognize, some crude, others more detailed but all vivid and real. It feels like they’re staring at him.

“It looks like another language,” 2D says.

“The...the soul that startles in eyes of blue, to watch thy wantonness weeping through…” The words tumble out like voice other than his own is speaking for him. “The tangled grove, the gnarled bole

Of the living tree that is spirit and soul…” He couldn’t read the symbols back in New York. “And body and brain – come over the sea…” He forces his legs to start backing away from the wall as he reads the final three lines. “Come over the sea. Come over the sea. Come over-” Suddenly his back hits a piece of furniture and he jumps causing whatever it is and whatever hollow objects are dangling from it to fall on top of him.

When he looks down, he sees an assortment of different snakes skins and dried indistinguishable animal carcasses. _You need to leave._ He feels sick.

“What is all that? Murdoc? How did you read that?”

2D’s voice sounds progressively fainter as Murdoc feels himself slipping. “I- I don’t know…” He mutters. He’s there, he knows he’s there, but he feels...separate, like he isn’t in his body. He swears he can see the images behind 2D moving and contorting until they’re dripping down the wall like water and flooding the room. _Buscar, search in_ , his mind reminds him. _Over the sea._ Then he’s moving, stumbling around, trying to find a way out. He runs into a drawer instead. His hands grip the edge to steady himself when he gets there, and he watches as they frantically open one after another. He doesn’t find anything until he get to the top drawer.

The first thing he sees is the stuffed bear. _My stuffed bear,_ is his automatic thought. Instinctively he grabs it. It’s brings him a welcome, albeit small, comfort that quickly fades when he remembers where they are. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He thinks he can hear the panting again.

“What…?” 2D starts to ask.

“This...isn’t good. This isn’t good.” He had just read a poem written using the Theban alphabet and now all he could do was repeat himself.

He senses 2D beside him, going through the drawer as well. Then he sees the book.

“The reading of this book is forbidden,” 2D reads. “Proceed no further or justice will exact a swift and terrible retribution…” And as he lifts the book, a picture falls out. It’s of a boy. _Me._ Murdoc’s mouth goes dry and he thinks he hears the floorboards creak behind them.

“I….” He clutches the stuffed animal to his chest and squeezes his eyes shut. “I…”

“Murdoc? It’s okay...we’re going to figure this out.” 2D says. “What’s happening to you?”

It’s a nightmare.  A real nightmare. The breathing is still there. He can hardly hear anything but the breathing and heavy, shuffling steps. There’s a sounds of sharp metal dragging across wood like a rusty nail on chalkboard. He doesn’t dare open his eyes. “I don’t…” But he has to leave. “I don’t….know…I think...it must be real.”

“What’s real? Just breathe okay? Murdoc...can you look at me?”

 _Run._ “I can’t.” He feels short of breath. The scraping is even closer now.  “Its...its claw.”

“There’s no one else here, Muds,” 2D reassures him, but he feels far away.

There’s pain in his chest as he wheezes for air. _Panic_. He’s had these sorts of attacks in the past but the terror has never felt so real. The monsters, the visions, he had always experienced them in such a state where he could convince himself he was dreaming. This is different. He knows he’s awake.

“It’s just us.”

“No…” In his dreams, he ran but to do that he needs to open his eyes. “I don’t...believe you.” The scraping is closer. His eyes are closed, but despite this he thinks he can see himself staring back at him. Only he looks cold, and gaunt and dead. _They’ve been waiting._ It’s the voice but it doesn’t sound like him anymore, it sounds old and malicious. Suddenly, the scraping stops. _Welcome home_ . 

Then something grabs him. He has to bite his tongue to keep from screaming, and, running on pure adrenaline, he forces his legs to work and runs. He scrambles up the ladder, chest heaving in panic and fatigue by the time he finally reaches the living room. Though he feels like he’s on the verge of collapse, he doesn’t stop there and stumbles towards the door, down the steps and towards the car. When the sun hits him, he can finally hear 2D again.

“Wait!” He calls. “Murdoc...what happened? What did you...are you okay? Was there something down there?”

“W-we have to g-get the hell out of here,” Murdoc stammers. He digs through his pockets for the car keys. “And th-then we have to stop.” Then he sees the book in 2D’s hands. “What the fuck is the matter with you?” He backs away from 2D, voice cracking as he speaks. “Get that the fuck away from me!”

If his words and behavior were having any impact on 2D it certainly wasn’t showing. “This book has her name on it. And you’re in it too. We need to find out why.”

“I don’t want to know why! Get rid of it!”

2D’s eyes widen as he glances at the book. “I...I thought you knew about this sort of thing”

“Of course I know about it! Why do you think I’m so...” He doesn’t finish the sentence. _Scared_ . “What you’re holding there is a grimoire, and a bloody large one at that. And that house?” He points back to the porch. “There’s something wrong with it. I..I saw it. I felt it. I don’t know what she did or who she was involved with or what happened to her but it couldn’t have been good because as of today she’s as good as missing.”  

“Well, we’re not going back in there ever again,” 2D says. “We’re trying to find her.”

“You don’t get it do you?” He assumes the house had to be dormant for at least a decade or so. If whatever energy it housed was still as potent and vivid as it felt in the basement then the last thing he wants to do is pursue it further. Then again, he had had those vision before and he isn’t sure if it’s him or the house. “This isn’t...this isn’t like some stupid seance I’d try to hold when I was drunk. This is potentially real fucking danger. We’re not safe carrying that thing around.”

“And what kind of danger is that? We’ve had ghosts following us around for as long as I’ve been a part of this band. We’ve had people trying to kill us. When you say danger are do you really mean danger or do you just mean danger for you because you’re not used to feeling so shaken up?”

“I mean that you’re a bigger idiot than I thought for even suggesting that you think we should keep going after what just happened in there.” Finally, he finds the keys and storms over to the driver’s side. “And fuck you! I feel this way. Every. Single. Day.”

As he starts the car 2D gets in silently, book still in tow. Murdoc glares at him and he meets his gaze back.

“I’m taking it,” 2D says. “And I’ll take responsibility for whatever happens to us or to me...or to the world if you really thinks it’s going to make THAT much fuss.”

“2D, why the _hell_ is this so important to you? It’s like it’s your mum we’re trying to find. Well guess what? It’s not. It’s my mum, my search, my fucking picture that was found in a book of curses for reasons I don’t know...” He starts blinking hard when he feels his eyes starting to water. If his mother truly loved him, why did she subject him to risky magic? Why was was malice all that he felt and why did his nightmares come back? He looks down at the stuffed bear in his lap and slams his foot on the gas. The engine protests as he backs the car off the property at breakneck speed. If 2D wanted to take the book and get them killed, he could. He doesn’t care.

“I know this, this search, is yours,” 2D says. After a pause he adds quietly, “That’s why.”

For awhile, they drive in silence. 2D doesn’t even try to turn on the radio this time, nor doe he look at the book. He only rests his chin in his hand and stares out the window, deep in thought.

Murdoc is the one to break the silence this time. “We need to stop somewhere,” he says bluntly as they pass a sign for a motel and promptly pulls into the parking lot. He doesn’t even know where he’s driving at this point and he can’t stop thinking about the wall, the scraping or the faces. He was likely to drive them into traffic or into the guard rail or worse if he drove any longer.

2D takes one look at the empty lot and chipped paint on the building and remarks, “Here?”

“I don’t feel like driving anymore.” He knows 2D will only offer to drive in response so he gets out of the car before he gets the chance to say it. “And I need a drink.” He looks at his watch. It’s early evening.

“Are...are you sure you want to stay here?” 2D asks as he follows after him. “There’s nothing here except a bunch of gas stations and a McDonald’s. I don’t think we’ll find much in the way of bars-”

“We’re in between obscure towns in the middle of nowhere. What else is there to do but drink?”

They check into the room without a problem. Unsurprisingly, they’re the only guests. Murdoc makes the decision to leave as soon as they puts their bags down, telling 2D he can come or not but that he isn’t waiting and the singer follows.

2D isn’t wrong about their surroundings. It takes them another half an hour of wandering until they walk far enough behind the motel and into the woods that they come across a rundown building with rusted steel tile roofing. Murdoc assumes it might have had a previous life as a small barn but the happy hour sign and group trucks in the parking lot tells him it has since taken on a new role. He grins. “See? What did I tell ya?” A rundown drinking stop for truckers may not have been ideal, but it would do. Anything to forget what had happened today, he would take. 

2D does his own assessment of the building. Murdoc can sense his thoughts going a mile a minute. “Hey, uh, Muds…” he says. “Before we go in and everything, I, uh...I want to say something...”

Murdoc taps his foot impatiently. Again, 2D was stalls. “Well, spit it out then. I’m not waiting here all night. In fact, if you don’t come up with something in the next five seconds I’m going in.”

It takes 2D the entirety of the five seconds to blink himself out of his stupor and he doesn’t stop Murdoc when he makes good on his promise and leave him. “Never mind...” he says and follows him inside.

The inside of the bar is sparsely populated and the smell of smoke almost overwhelming. There are numerous empty tables in the center of the building and those that do have occupants are mostly solitary drinkers. Murdoc takes a seat at the bar and taps his fingers on the wood to get the nearest bartender’s attention. “I’ll take a whiskey. Straight, none that ‘on the rocks’ bullshit.”

“Pretty far from home, ain’t you?” The bartender is an overweight, greasy-looking man in a stained shirt. When he grins at him, Murdoc can’t tell if it’s meant to be welcoming or threatening. He pushes the bad vibe aside. What mattered was whether he would serve him enough drinks for him to forget the entire day. His wallet would make sure of that.

“You don’t know the half of it, mate,” he says. “But here for the same reason as any of your regulars.” A quick scan of the room gives him a good idea of the demographic.

“And I’ll have a pint,” 2D chimes in beside him. “Something with a little, uh, hop to it.”

As 2D talks, Murdoc notices two other customers further down the bar chuckling. He doesn’t hear everything, but he does hear a mock impression of 2D’s accent.

“So, uh, Muds,” 2D says. “I’ve thought about what you said in the car and uh, I didn’t mean to make you feel like I was pushing or trying to take over your search.”

“Oh? How was I supposed to feel?”

“I just...” 2D glances at his empty glass. “Just because you want to give up on you doesn’t mean I do.”

Murdoc signals for another drink. “If giving up means not wanting to get killed then call me a quitter” A part of him wants to tell 2D about the nightmares and what he saw but he’s never really told anyone about that. _Do you really mean danger or do you just mean danger for you?_ 2D’s voice echoes in his head. Maybe it really was just danger for him, the danger of telling someone everything, his fears, what had happened. Maybe, just a maybe a small part of him knew he needed help and that an even smaller part wanted it.  _  
_

“She means more to you than that.” 2D stares at him. “You know that. I know that.”

 _She loved you. She loved you so much._ He tips his glass back and tries to forget he ever said that.

“And you know what I think? I think you know as well as I do that we haven’t even gotten a fraction of the information that’s out there. That’s _good_ news. That’s what you said you wanted. You wouldn’t have left like you did if you didn’t want _something_.”

Murdoc tilts his glass apprehensively, recalling that horrid basement and his picture in the book. 2D isn’t wrong. He had wanted to find out about her, and by extension, himself. Now, he doesn’t know what he wants anymore.

“That night that you left Detroit. I, uh, I couldn’t stop thinking about y- I mean I couldn’t stop thinking about your face while you were looking at your phone during the interview, like it was draining the life out of you. Then you hid. And then you ran. And I still couldn’t stop thinking about…” Slowly he breaks eye contact and trails off. Again.

Unsurprised that he’s left yet another train of thought hanging, Murdoc says, “Look, 2D...I know what you’re trying to do, and I’m gonna just this once, ask you kindly to stop before you give yourself a brain aneurysm.”

2D sighs. “Do you?” He asks, but he doesn’t say anything else, and Murdoc is far too drained to ask him anything more.

They sit at the bar attending to their drinks quietly, both mulling over their own personal thoughts. Murdoc is about to make a snide comment about how slowly 2D is drinking his beer when the singer nudges him.

“Look,” he says, averting his eyes in the direction he wants Murdoc to look.

Murdoc glances across the room where he’s motioning and sees a small stage and an old television and microphone stand. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“They’ve got karaoke.” 2D’s response comes out more as an observation, devoid of any obvious emotion.

“No,” Murdoc says before he can ask.

They both stare at the stage in silence for a long few minutes that feel like hours.

“You don’t have to do it but…” 2D says, breaking the silence. He takes a deep breath. “I...I think I do...”

“You can’t be serious. Can’t you read a room?” The last thing this crowd looked like they wanted was to listen to karaoke. Murdoc doesn’t even want to start thinking about what song 2D’s planning.  

2D shifts nervously in his seat. Then he takes a long drink. “I’m going to do it.” It sounds more like he’s prompting himself. “I’m going to do it because if I don’t I’ll just be stuck with ‘what ifs...I don’t know when else I’ll do it or how I’m going to get to do it...”

“Do _what?_ ” There’s a small feeling, one he’s felt with 2D when he was drunk on the floor of the bathroom in Stoke and again as they landed in New York, maybe even as far back when they sat at the piano together in Detroit that he notices is there again. He wants to like that feeling but the anxiety that comes it makes him hesitate. Maybe he could talk about it with 2D later but, as he scans the room and the two customers further down the bar who have been whispering about them this entire time, he decides he absolutely does not want him to get up on that stage. “Can’t you just get drunk with me like a normal person?”

But he soon finds he’s talking to an empty bar stool. And then he hears the microphone.

The microphone feedback is particularly sharp as 2D grabs that stand. “Oops,” he says as the entire room audibly grumbles. “Sorry about that. Uh, hello. I’m Stuart and- hey wait!” He waves his hand at the worker managing the karaoke machine. “Don’t play it yet. I’ve, uh, got something to say.”

“Y’know, usually people just _sing_ the song…” The worker grumbles.

2D fiddles with his fingers, nervous. “Yeah, uh, right....well, that's okay.” He turns back to the room, briefly making eye contact with Murdoc, who mouths a ‘what the fuck are you doing?’ back to him. He clears his throat. “I, uh, wanted to dedicate this song to someone who, uh, who means…” He averts his eyes down to the microphone like he’s speaking to it instead of the room. “...a lot more to me than I...than I know how to say.”

The words have more of an affect on Murdoc than he wants. It makes the feeling worse. Now matter how badly he wants to focus on his drink, all he can do is keep his eyes glued to the stage.

“But you see, I don’t know if he knows that. It’s hard when I don’t know and he won’t tell me everything but...we’ve been through a lot and we’re going through a lot now. He’s going through the more than me...Okay..I think I’m getting off track here...”

“You know how this sounds?” Murdoc hears the customer sitting further down the bar whisper loudly to his friend. “Fucking queer.” Then they laugh and he frowns.

“What I’m trying to says is, I’ve been with you while you’ve been searching, and we keeping coming back to memories, memories of what you can’t remember, what you can, what you wish you could just forget…I think there are a lot of those.” 2D pauses and looks down at his hands and continues to knead them anxiously. Murdoc he can tell he’s talking to him nonetheless.

“But there are also memories you and I have that don’t seem as bad. I have some of those, too.” 2D closes his eyes. “1999. It’s London in the wee hours of the morning. The pub is closing and we’re six pints in and you’re laughing. You’re always the most alive to me when you laugh, I don’t know why that is, maybe it’s because at this point I can still count on my hand the number of times I’ve seen you genuinely happy. You’re so vibrant, and I just stare. These are the old times for me, I think- your laugh, you’re smile. I think that’s why I still try to find that in you now. I know it’s annoying...sorry about that.”

Murdoc can sense the room getting restless as 2D goes on, he can hear someone describe his rambling as gibberish and kooky. But it makes perfect sense to him. He can see the pub, he can hear the music. 2D’s tangents have never seemed so crystal clear as they are now.

“...And they’re always playing that one radio station, uh, you know, the one that plays the same top twenty Billboard songs in a constant cycle, and you’d always take a piss out of them for the predictable arrangements and the weak, uninspired hooks. You says something funny and we laugh again.” He takes takes a deep breath. “So, uh, I know I haven’t have the best track record with songs this trip. and there’s a good chance you’re going to hate this one too, I’m, uh, going to sing I song I remember hearing that night. You might not remember because we were sitting in a booth that night and you passed out on my shoulder. I teased you a bit about that but...I’ve never forgotten that night or how you just seemed to fit on my shoulder like some sort of missing part of me that I never knew was missing...I don’t know if that makes any sense.”

It made sense. It made too much sense. Murdoc doesn’t dare move at the risk of losing complete control of whatever emotions he had stirring in the pits of his stomach.

“I didn’t want that moment to end...kind of like how I don’t want this journey we’re doing now to end. But it’s you’re decision, and I won’t bother you anymore after this. I promise. So, uh, here it is, Muds...Doc...Murdoc...for you.”

A long silence follows as 2D stands there, not realizing that the staff working the karaoke has since turned his attention elsewhere. When he finally figures it out, 2D waves at him and says, “You can play it now.”

Murdoc recognizes the slow guitar opening immediately, and his heartbeat, the only body part he notices moving, beats rapidly in his chest.

 _“A cold and frosty morning there's not a lot to say, about the things caught in my mind_.”

2D looks out of place standing up there without the rest of the band, singing to a prerecorded track in front of a room of ten or so truckers and townies. In any other situation, Murdoc might have laughed at him along with the other two patrons sitting near him, but in this moment, he’s just trying not to pass out.

 _“As the day was dawning my plane flew away, with all the things caught in my mind.”_ Out of place or not, his voice is still as smooth and emotive as ever. _“And I wanna be there when you're... coming down”_ And it still cuts through his entire being and speaks to him like it’s known him for his entire life. “ _And I wanna be there when you hit the ground…”_

Then he realizes it. That day that everything began when Russel asked the singer about his therapy session that day, the one that Murdoc had missed. The one he laughed at because it sounded like it was just “singing lessons. _“She asked me who I was singing for…”_ 2D had said. _“And, well, I...I couldn’t quite answer that one...”_

 _“So don't go away. Say what you say…”_ 2D continues, oblivious to the disinterest of the crown. “ _Say that you'll stay. Forever and a day.”_

 _It’s me_ . The thought enters Murdoc’s head plainly and matter-of-factly. He feels his eyes beginning to water and, like clockwork, the voice comes back to pull him out of it. _No, it’s not. It’s not you. It’s never been you. It will never be you._

_“In the time of my life, 'cause I need more time…”_

“Booooo!” It’s the same pair again. They laugh.

_“Yes I need more time, just to make things right…”_

It’s enough to tear Murdoc away from his own thoughts and enough to get his body to move again so he can turn and direct a glare at them. In a way, he’s grateful. It’s much easier to be angry than to even start trying to figure out what 2D’s singing is doing to him. “Oi, fuckface. Cut it out.”

His response just makes them laugh harder. Murdoc can feel his face heating up.

“Not until you tell your boyfriend up there that he sucks ass and to get a room.”

“Ain’t you late for your tea and crumpets?” The other adds in a mock British accent.

They were on the brink of incurring his wrath. It was one thing to laugh at Murdoc but to heckle 2D like he’s an amateur, who, in Murdoc’s opinion had yet to give one truly bad performance? That was unacceptable. The more he thinks about it, the angrier he gets to the point that he’s surprised at his own temper. “Boo again and I’ll show you what a bloody-

“Booooo!”

That did it. Without hesitation, Murdoc grabs 2D’s half empty glass and breaks it on the edge of the bar. It doesn’t break as gracefully he would have liked, and it registers to him that 2D had a glass, not a bottle. He isn’t even sure what exactly he’s even planning to do with his makeshift weapon that’s now really nothing but shattered glass, and he doesn’t have time to figure it out before he hears the crack of knuckle on bone and he’s thrown backwards into one of the bar stools. The throbbing above his eye comes next and it registers that he’s been hit.

He had been in many fights when he was younger and many where he had been at a disadvantage. So he isn’t as afraid as he knows he should be when they both charge him. He kicks the stool towards one as a distraction and swings at the other. But the blow to the head has left him dizzy and he misses. He’s able to sort of dodge his opponents hit, and takes the blow to his side rather than his stomach where it was originally aimed.

They don’t get further than that and as he’s reaching for another stool to wield, two staff members grab him by the jacket and drag him outside. “Good riddance, motherfucker!” he hears one of them yell at him. “Fucking psycho.” He hears another. 2D’s voice is in there somewhere, but he can’t make out what he’s saying.

Then he’s outside. He stumbles around the parking lot at first, trying to get his bearings and check his injuries. Above his left eye stings when he touches it, and he realizes that it’s bleeding. “Whatever,” he mutters to himself as he begins to wander in the direction he thinks will take him back to the motel. Any other day and he would have banging on the doors, cursing out the staff but tonight he feels like he’s in a stupor. Was 2D really just singing to him? Was he trying to tell him what he thought he was trying to tell him? Had any of the day actually happened?

“Murdoc!”

He stops. And suddenly all those same emotions he was trying to avoid come flooding back.

“Are you okay?” 2D asks walking around to face him. “Did they..? They didn’t stab you, did they? Is it just this? What the hell happened?”

Murdoc sees 2D’s hand coming towards his face to inspect his forehead and instinctively jerks away. He hates that he can’t stop himself from doing that.

“It’s nothing.” Murdoc says, waving him off, ignoring his hurt expression. “Just had to, er, you know, release some of that pent up energy from everything I’ve had to deal with, nothing a good couple blows to the face won’t solve. It’s like you said back in New York- nothing I can’t handle.” As he speaks he feels more self-assured. “Did you see how I got that fat one in the back of his head?” And then he laughs.

As he waits for 2D’s response he sees the worry gradually disappear from his face. But it isn’t replaced with a smile, and, unlike the memory he shared, the singer doesn’t laugh with him. 

“I don’t know why you’re laughing. You’re lucky that you didn’t die or that they didn’t call the police,” he says.

Puzzled, Murdoc answers, “It’s not that big a deal. It’s not the first time someone’s hit me and it probably won’t be the last.”

“That was dangerous, Murdoc. I was worried about you. I _am_ worried about you.”

“We wanted a break from our cheap motel, so we went to get some cheap beer. You finally get your karaoke night and some even cheaper local blokes try to sour my night and I don’t let them.” He pressed his sleeve to his brow to soak up more of the blood and winces. “So cut the worried mum act out. People fight. And guess what Einstein? I was helping _you._ ”

“You weren’t helping anyone. They were wankers, but none of that...none of that was for them.” He allows the sentence to hang there for a moment, shifting his eye contact from Murdoc to elsewhere. “It was for..er...” He examines Murdoc the same way Murdoc’s seen him look at a broken keyboard that’s giving him trouble- gentle and curious, yet determined. Only this time it wasn’t a misplaced wire or loose key he was trying to find. “...Did you, uh, listen to any of it? At all?"

Of course he listened. He remembers everything. The the dimly lit room, the song, 2D’s voice as it came through the speakers. Murdoc swears he felt the entire universe move in that room, but he doesn’t know what it is, he isn’t sure he wants to know what it is. _It definitely isn’t you._ He agrees. There had been too many surprise already. He doesn’t want anymore. “Yeah, I listened to you embarrass yourself on a karaoke machine.”

“Oh really, is that what is is then?” 2D’s voice sounds strained and unhappy.

It was more. It was so much more. But it’s like a being commanded to write a song in a language he doesn’t speak. Everything is muddled and words he doesn’t know are stuck in his throat. The only feeling he recognizes enough to describe is stress, and the only responses he knows for stress is fight or flight. “Yeah, and it got me this.” He points to his forehead. “Are you happy?”

This time, it’s 2D who turns away. He starts muttering to himself. Murdoc can’t hear everything he’s saying, but when he does, it’s usually the phrase ‘so stupid.’ “How could you…?” 2D looks down as his hands as he rambles. “Stupid…” Murdoc doesn’t catch the end of his sentence. “Maybe it was…” He doesn’t hear the end of that one either. And 2D had the nerve to make fun of him for talking to himself. “You just need to…”

“Oh come on...” Murdoc asks, tired. “Who ‘just needs to’? Me? Can you at least wait until we get back to the motel to go completely mental?”

2D turns back around, eye twitching in irritation. “Murdoc,” he begins, “Why am I here?”

“Um, what?”

“ _Why_ am I here?” 2D asks with more force this time.

So now it was 2D’s turn to draw out his temper. “Good question. I’ve only been asking you that for this entire. Fucking. Trip.” He doesn’t know what he where he wants this conversation to go or what he wants 2D to say back or what he wants from 2D. Then again, what did 2D want from _him_ ? He had a lot to be angry at him for, he knew that, so why this moment, this insignificant moment? _But it wasn’t insignificant to you. Maybe he felt the same thing you did._ No, he shakes his head. “...Because clearly, you can’t go any length of time without getting all pissy over nothing.”

“Nothing?!” 2D snaps. “You...you...you don’t get it! You’re always calling me the bloody stupid one but that isn’t true. It’s you! _You’re_ the stupid one! And a arse, and a wanker, and a-”

“I’m not the one having a fit over something my fucking bandmate does all the time. What the fuck is the matter with you?”

“‘Bandmate’?” 2D’s parrots back, sounding slightly more deflated. “Okay…” He inhales slowly as if he’s engaging in a brief meditation mid-argument. “It’s either you’re stupid or you’re cruel...or both…”

“What are you talking about?!” Murdoc can feel his heart starting to race.

“Or maybe it’s me,” 2D looks back down at his hands. “You know, I’ve been working on being more assertive and being more direct with what I want to say...I’ve never been good at it.” He brings his gaze back, glancing briefly at Murdoc before focusing on the space behind him, immersed in his own train of thought. “But I thought I was getting better. I thought that the massage might work...you did seem to like that at first, and then I tried the Uber Eats...the dinner I thought was really obvious...but maybe I just don’t know how…” He trails off.

“Don’t know how to what?” Murdoc asks, no longer able to mask his own growing feeling of anxiety. Was this how 2D felt when he asked him questions? Was it possible he was saying what it sounded like he was saying? There was no way. Maybe that punch knocked him out and he was hallucinating.

“...The song, the song was bloody obvious…” 2D shakes his head. “But apparently it meant shit to you.”

“2D, I…”

2D studies him momentarily. Then, in a softer he tone asks, “What...what happened to you, Murdoc?” There is a genuine sadness in that question.

“...Wha-what?” Murdoc can barely keep up with him, the singers words sending him to every emotional extreme at a relentless pace. His head aches, the cut above his eyebrow stings and his side is sore.

“Can you at least tell me that? What happened to you that makes it so hard to...to...care about yourself or to notice someone cares about _you_?”

Stunned, Murdoc can only stare at him. _Your own mother didn’t care about you_. He winces. 2D could say whatever he wanted but all it even did was pull him into a battle with himself, a battle he was so weary of, but it would never go away. All he can do is wait to see if he goes on. He does.

“Some guys wailing on you in a bar? Oh you love to laugh about that, you’ll be laughing about that for years. Someone cuts you off on the highway? You sure do remember to complain about that. But your ‘bandmate’ spends this entire trip practically spelling out his feelings..about..or, I mean...for..or...never mind. But somehow, THAT’S what your brain decides to put in the ‘forget about this’ pile.” 2D is visibly shaking now. “I understood a bit more in the beginning because of how drunk you always were but now? I don’t understand. I...I...don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

Remember. Forget. Remember. What did he remember? He remembers every touch, every emotional reaction, he even starts to remember some of the moments 2D was probably referring to from years ago. They confused him, the feelings they brought, foreign, so he always blamed his own mind because they didn’t fit. They didn’t fit into anything he thought about himself or the type of relationship with another person he ever thought he would have or deserved. “This..this is making any sense…” He mumbles, running a quivering hand through his hair. “It isn’t making any bloody sense.”

“I..don’t know...I thought that it all meant something…” 2D continues. “I thought that chat we had on the roof maybe meant something. I thought the ‘thanks’ meant something...you, you even _said_ it did...You said it did.” He’s silent for a moment. Then he takes a step forward, a new look of resolve on his face.

Again, Murdoc braces himself. _It’s just 2D_. If he could scream it at himself, he would.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts he doesn’t notice how close 2D has gotten. There’s just about a foot of distance between them. Murdoc has to tip his head up slightly to maintain eye contact.

“Just say it,” Murdoc says. “Or just do it. I don’t care. Just.. just get it over with so we can leave.”

2D takes a deep breath. “I can do that. I made it all the way here anyways. Um..yeah..so...I...just hope you don’t hate me.”

Hate him? Murdoc furrows his brow, puzzled.

2D reaches his hands out. Murdoc wants to back away, but he also doesn’t want his uneasiness to be that obvious so he keeps his feet planted where they are and his gaze hard. However, 2D seems to see through his posturing and slows his movements. “I’m, uh...I’m not going to hurt you...or anything,” he reassures him.

“I _know_ that,” Murdoc replies, trying his best to sound snide and unbothered. _It’s just 2D._ He berates himself further, feeling pathetic that 2D even had to say that to him. Before he knows it, 2D’s hands are gently cupping either side of his face and for the first few seconds, he stops breathing.

“So...I..um..I just…” 2D’s stammering reminds him to inhale. “Well...”

His heart pounds in his chest as his entire body tries to makes sense of what this scenario is doing to him. When 2D runs his thumb along his cheek it registers to him as tender and kind and something he might want more of, but his hand are so close his neck he has to fight back images of experiences he wishes he could just forget. _It’s just 2D. It’s just 2D. But who says 2D couldn’t turn on you? He’s never done something like this before. WHY?_ But 2D, 2D hadn’t let him down. He had been there for everything, just as he had said. _But no one cares about you._

2D leans down closer, close enough that Murdoc can see the beads of nervous sweat on his face and smell the secondhand smoke from the bar that clings to his clothes. “I..” 2D begins, a certain level of fear in his own eyes. “I just...want you to try and remember this time.” Then, without another moment’s hesitation, he closes the gap between them and kisses him.

Five seconds.

He knows this because even though the rest of his body is immobile with shock, his brain is more alert than ever and all it can focus on is the warmth of the singer’s touch and the genuine strength of emotion in his kiss. And it keeps count.

It only last five seconds yet in those fives seconds, everything makes sense. 2D breathes a new language into him that articulates every moment of unrecognized yearning, confusion and self-doubt he’s had about himself, about 2D, about _them_ that he’s been unable to translate for himself. And in this enlightenment, hands - his hands - that had impulsively wedged themselves between them in defense, lose their tension to rest gently on his chest. He isn’t angry or afraid in those seconds. His nightmares, his mother’s past, even his own thoughts all feel small. _Because I care. I do care. I always cared._ 2D tells him in that five second gesture. And Murdoc believes him, and he wants to tell him he believes him. He wants to pull him closer, to share the overpowering relief he never knew he was looking for with him but no matter how much his mind urges his fingers to work, they won’t.

And then it’s over.

Murdoc doesn’t know what his expression is when 2D lets him go. He soon figures out that it must not be good from the way the singer keeps looking at him like he’s expecting something more. “2D…” He forces out. “I…”

“I’m sorry,” 2D says, taking another step back. “I shouldn’t have…”

There’s so much Murdoc wants to say. He wants to tell him that he _did_ listen and that he’s noticed everything, that he’s felt what he’s felt the whole time, that he knew but he just didn’t believe. He wants to be close to him again, but he can’t and his feet remain planted where they are. The way his own form works against him has never felt so hopeless and infuriating as it does right not.

“I...I should go,” 2D states before turning and walking aimlessly into the woods.

And Murdoc can only watch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd there it is. It took 90,000 words but there it is! This is really just the tip of the iceberg for a lot of things, but this is the start. Obviously, 2D and Murdoc have some things to talk about for next time. 
> 
> Additionally, I realized I never clarified this but, per canon info, Murdoc is bisexual in this fic, so this isn't a sexual identity awakening, it's more of a feelings (in general) awakening. 
> 
> Anyhow, comments/thoughts are greatly appreciated and help keep me going. They honestly mean so much. I'm also happy to explain my thought process to the best of my ability if there are any questions!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING- this chapter starts off with a graphic flashback and if you are triggered by depictions of physical abuse please skip past the italics. Also, this is a one time thing. No other flashbacks will be this graphic.

_ The hand that wakes him is a cruel one. Its jagged nails dig into his skin as they seize a fistful of his hair and yank him out of his already fitful sleep. Disoriented and surprised, he’s unable to suppress his cry of pain as he hits the floor with a thud. Still, the hand is there. It jerks him up when he does move to get up fast enough, pulling his head back at a painful angle and eliciting another gasp of discomfort.  _

_ “Get the fuck up!” His father yells at him.  _

_ Murdoc doesn’t know how his father, likely drunk or high or some mixture of the two, can even stand on two feet let along navigate his pitch black room. It’s inhuman. Then again, he’s never really known his father to be anything other than a monster. _

_ “What the fuck do you want?” He asks as he stumbles along with him into the equally dark hallway, just barely keeping up with his father’s pace. _

_ “Did I say you could talk?” Is the response. Another jerk is thrown in for good measure. Murdoc doesn’t say anything more. _

_ His father drags him down the stairs and into the kitchen. It’s only then that Murdoc is able to glance at the clock. 3:48 am. He was going to have to be up for school in another three hours, he thinks as he’s pushed forward.  _

_ “I don’t know what the fuck you’re waiting for. Get your arse up and clean this shit up,” his father commands as he walks over to the refrigerator. _

_ Clean what “shit” up? Murdoc wants to ask, but fourteen years of experience has taught him that it’s better not to ask questions. Silently, he gets up and begins to clear some of the plates off the counter. _

_ “Not there,” his father snaps. The sound of a bottle being popped open follow shortly after. “Over there.”  _

_ He doesn’t point, so, biting his tongue, Murdoc takes another guess. This time, he goes to get their surface cleaner from the cabinet to wipe down the table. Then a hand is in his hair again and he knows he’s chosen wrong.  _

_ “I have to do fucking everything around here.” He pulls him over to the sink. Once they’re there, he grabs his wrist and pushes it into the dirty dishes. “Feel that? Now get on with it.” Then then he’s gone.  _

_ “I can’t fucking see,” Murdoc mutters to himself, thinking he’s alone. Everything in the house is turned off and the blinds are drawn. Any light that could come possibly slip by is effectively blocked out. Washing and putting the dishes away without mistake would be near impossible. At the same time, Murdoc knows his well being, whether he would be allowed to sleep again tonight or even stay in the house all depended on whether he completed this task perfectly. Then again, he has no idea what “perfect” was to his father. He hears the sound of him snorting something from the living room. _

_ “What did you say?” his father demands.  _

_ “Nothing.”  _

_ So he gives cleaning in the dark a try. Even with his eyes adjusted, he loses his place, he bangs into things, and loses his place. When he almost drops a plate he decides the risk of breaking something outweighs the risk of whatever would happen to him if he turns on a light. If he could do that he could finish quickly  and retreat to the safety of his room where he can barricade the door and hide until morning.  _

_ Hoping that his father has passed out by now, he tip toes slowly over to the kitchen light switch and flips it upwards.  _

_ He’s not so lucky. _

_ “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Comes the same, irritable voice.  _

_ Murdoc stands his ground, not wanting to show how nervous he’s becoming. “Turning on a fucking light. I can’t clean if I can’t see anything.” _

_ “I told you to clean your mess up.” The voice gets louder as it gets closer, the floorboards creaking with each step. “I didn’t say you could do anything else.” _

_ But afraid or not, he’s weary and frustrated and he just wants to leave. “There’s just going to be a bigger bloody mess!” Still, he goes to turn the light back off anyways, deciding again that it isn’t worth the risk of whatever consequence he may have to endure if he argues any further.  _

_ But he doesn’t move fast enough, and his father takes a hold of his hair again and steers him back to the light switch. “Turn it off you piece of shit!”    
_

_ Murdoc barely has time to listen before he’s being dragged back over to the sink, neck strained as the rest of his body tries to catch up. “Get the fuck off!” he finally yells. He digs his own nails into that hand, trying to free himself from its grip. “I know how to walk and I can walk to the fucking sink!” _

_ “You wanna walk?” His father shakes him. “Then walk!” Then he throws him, and he falls backwards. The next thing he hears is the sounds of his own head cracking against the table. The next thing he feels is a sharp, intense pain in his shoulder. Shock follows as he hits the ground, completely frozen save for the tears brimming in his eyes. _

_ “Get up!” His father yells at him again. “Get the fuck up and clean up your fucking mess!” _

_ But he can’t. Every time he moves, a sharp pain shoots through his shoulder and he doesn’t have any fight left in him tonight. He just wants it all to end. _

_ “Get up!” _

“Stand up, please.” 

The voice is softer and carries more concern for him but he can feel his shoulders brace defensively anyways. He looks at the doctor tending to him, likely still a resident, with a suspicious look in his eye. 

“I want you to make sure you don’t have a concussion and to do that, we’re going to have to go through a couple quick balance and cognitive tests.” 

There were many reasons why he avoided doctor’s offices. He didn’t like being a role where he was only meant to listen, as if he was meant to trust the stranger in front of him had his best interests in mind just because they had a degree. They never did. All they ever did was poke and prod at him until they uncovered secrets he wasn’t ready to share. When he was younger there were a couple of times where he had been foolish enough to confide in them. He isn’t foolish anymore and some knob at Patient First isn’t going achieving any breakthroughs with him. 

When the doctor sees that he isn’t getting anywhere, he pulls out a pen. “Okay, let’s try this instead. I want you to follow this pen with your eyes.”

“And what else do you think I would I follow it with exactly?” he grumbles. Eye contact is the last thing he wants, but he plays his growing restlessness off as cool as he can, rolling his eyes and sighing a mildly irritated sigh as he turns his gaze upwards. 

“Some patients turn their heads, or point at it. You’d be surprised. Now, just follow along.”

Murdoc watches as the pen moves from left to right, and up and down. “So this pen’s the things that’s going to tell you lot whether or not my brain’s scrambled,” he remarks. 

“Not entirely,” the doctor says. “But we won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to do here, and if this is all you want to do, then I’ll make a note of it in the chart and we can go from there.” When he’s finished, he places the pen back in his pocket. Then he goes to type a few notes in the computer. “Okay, looking good.”

“I could have told you that.” The office is painfully bright, the pastel color of the walls seem to only reflect the light coming from the ceiling. He’s starting to want to leave. “This isn’t a big deal. Some inbred arse at a bar got in a lucky shot while I wasn’t looking. I didn’t black out. I’m not having any trouble standing or stringing my sentences together and I walked over here by myself.” It had been either follow 2D went or go somewhere else. He opted for the latter, his compromise to himself being that maybe he could use the time to try to take care of himself just this once, but now that he was doing it, he was finding even with a task as simple as that difficult.

“So, are you trying to say that you don’t need our help?”

“No, I just want you to give me a band aid or whatever it is you do here so I can go.”  _ 2D, _ he thinks. He  wonders where he is, what he’s thinking about, and questioning why he was too much of a coward to follow him or at least say something. 

“Let me take a look at that.” The doctor approaches him and moves his hair out of his face to get a better look at the cut. The gesture is unexpected, and Murdoc has to grip the edges of the examination table and grit his teeth to keep from swinging at him or jumping away. “Looks pretty deep. Whoever hit you must have been wearing a ring or something metal. I would recommend a couple stitches, actually. It shouldn’t take too long and the alcohol should be mostly out of your system for now.” 

He squeezes his eyes shut.    


_ You watched him go and then you turned around and walked in the opposite direction. He’s out there thinking that you hate him and there’s not a thing that you’re doing about it.  _

“Is that a yes or no to the stitches?” 

His eyes snap open. “...Fine, It’s a yes...Just hurry it up.” He was doing something about it, he thinks - he was getting stitches. If and when they saw each other again, maybe 2D would smile.

The doctor leaves and he’s left to sit along in the office, becoming more and more restless with each passing minute. When the nurse assigned to do the procedure finally arrives, she directs him - much to his horror - to lie back on the examining table.

“It will be easier this way,” she says.

He listens but he doesn’t like not being able to see what she’s doing. To his left he hears the clanging of metal on metal as the nurse readies her different surgical tools. He closes his eyes again and tries to breath.

“Hold still,” she says and he knows the numbing needle is coming. “You’re going to feel a small pinch.” 

He flinches. 

“There,” she says, as if it’s no big deal. “You’re doing great. I’m just going to need you to turn your head the side so I can get a better view.”

Internally, Murdoc can feel the panic rising. Turn where? In what direction? To get a better view of what? How come the bright light still wasn’t enough? All he could do was guess.  _ Or ask. _ No, he wasn’t talking to any of them so he takes a guess and turns his head to the right. 

“Great,” he hears and he begins to feel relieved and cracks open his eyes.

“Okay, this will just take a minute…” 

Out of the corner of his eye he can see hands coming towards him, then the needle and surgical thread. The close they get the bigger they appear. The smaller he feels. His hands are aching now from the how tightly he’s gripping the table and his breaths are becoming shorter and shorter until he’s light-headed. 

“No!” He sits up abruptly before she can start. “Fuck this! You stay the fuck away from me!” 

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

“Oh fuck off!” He spits back. “I’m leaving.” With that, he pushes himself off the table and out of the office. The waiting room is as full as it was when he arrived and they gawk at him as he storms past the front desk and ignores the staff calling after him. Something about a “civility” policy. 

Then he’s out. The bright lights and prying hands gone, but only the night sky and whirring of the traffic around him to distract him from himself. 

_ What...what happened to you, Murdoc?  _ 2D’s voice echoes through the din as he walks through the parking lot waiting for his heart rate to return to a normal pace.  _ Can you at least tell me that? _

He could walk back to the motel or he could walk away from the motel. He pulls his jacket tighter around his shoulders as he considers the two options. It isn’t that cold, but it just feels like something he needs. 

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “I don’t know.” It isn’t like knowing ever helped anyways. He knows he could have gotten help back at the Patient First, not only for his cut but may even some referrals to a rehab or outpatient mental health services. Still, that knowledge was no match for his memories or his own body. For the second time that night he had failed. He walks away from the motel.

Still, the kiss lingers in his mind. He felt a genuine affection and warmth in those seconds. How long had he meant something to 2D in that way? Did he even mean it in that way? Why now? And why, even as he marveled at the honesty in the action and the relief it gave him, did he still feel like he needed to protect himself?

After a few minutes of walking he realizes that he doesn’t know where he’s going. When he looks around, he sees gas station after gas station mixed in with some fast food places, rest stops and closed up buildings, some abandoned, some occupied by different antique and secondhand furniture businesses that were closed for the night. So it was either sit in a fast food place, loiter around a gas station or wander.

As he walks towards the gas station, squinting again as the glaring, artificial light hits him, he decides that what 2D was suggesting just hours earlier was right - there was something fundamentally wrong with him. There had to be. He could try to bury it under those silly positive phrases or meditations and everything else 2D had tried to get him to do but it would always be the truth.

What happened to him? He knows the answer. He always has, and up until his mother’s letters he had been content to pretend it was no big deal, that it was something he moved past decades ago. Or perhaps content was too nice a word. He was miserable, but he had a system that kept him functional and ‘fun’ enough to get by. Now, the aftermath of his entire life had flooded over his mental levees and was threatening to fully drown him. It was what made him so cynical and guarded that he couldn’t believe the one person had been with him through the entire trip might care for him. It was what made him so much of a fuck up that he couldn’t sit still at the doctor’s office for something as basic as stitches. He’d been running away from everything that could possibly be good for him his entire life, he realizes. And he doesn’t know how to stop. 

He wanders behind the convenience store at the gas station, right beside the dumpster, and pulls out his cigarettes. The light doesn’t hurt his head as much in the dark.

As he lights up, he checks his phone for the first time in a few days. Fifty-four unread messages, but none in the last week, all from Noodle and Russel. It’s at that moment that it registers to him that having someone to talk to might be nice. But they haven’t messaged him in days, a sign to him that they must have stopped trying and caring, so he doesn’t bother reading them and puts his phone away. Not that he would trust them with his mother’s story or whatever just happened with 2D anyways.

_ 2D. That leaves 2D. _

The truth was, It was 2D who he’d have gone to in a situation like this. 2D was the one who would listen to his ranting and the one who would hug him in those rare moments when he was drunk and emotional (moments he would always pretend to forget the next day) and also the one who would check on him in the morning. Perhaps he had been trusting 2D for longer than he thought. 

_ It’s always been 2D.  _

He exhales. His breath comes out shaky. 2D seemed to know this, too, and it was also 2D who had connected the dots that perhaps the two of them wanted something more from one another, and had been wanting that something more for a long time. 

He takes another drag from his cigarette and listens as the world continues to rush around him, even as his own world feels like it’s come to a dead stop. There hadn’t been any recent messages on his phone from 2D. In some ways this comes as a relief because Murdoc knows if he isn’t in secure enough a mental state to respond. At the same time, he feels incredibly isolated and uncertain. What was 2D doing right now? Was he looking for him? Or had he left? 

Murdoc gulps, nervousness twisting in his stomach. The last question worries him, almost enough to push him to message the singer himself, but again, he can’t.

_ But it was right _ , he berates himself.  _ It was your epiphany. It was the one thing that’s made sense out of this entire painful, ordeal. It was comfort and it was good _ . 

Comfort. Murdoc shivers as an abnormally chilly breeze passes through the nook he’s created for himself between the building and the dumpster. Out of nowhere, his shoulder stings. He’s been in a state of discomfort for as long as he can remember, he thinks as he reaches a hand back to massage it. 

Even though he was older and far away from the shadows of his upbringing the discomfort followed him.  It had made a contradiction of him. He wasn’t comfortable anywhere - not at their house in Detroit with the rest of his band hovering over him but at the same time, not standing alone in the dark with no one to talk to. His head is aching, yet he wasn’t comfortable enough to stay in the doctor’s office to figure it out. He isn’t even comfortable reaching out to the one person who he trusts. Somehow, somewhere in his life, he had become so used to being uncomfortable that it had become a part of his identity. When he was younger, he didn’t think he deserved it, now, he practically created it for himself even when he didn’t have to be. It had become his norm.  _ But it isn’t normal _ . 

He pulls out his phone again. No messages. Did he want to send a message or wait? What kind of waiting did he want? He gulps. Better to be the one ignoring than to be the one being ignored. So until her heard from 2D -  _ If he heard from 2D  _ \- he would be walking. They had given each other silent treatment like this before and he had always won. 

After an gas station employee yells at him to leave, he stumbles across a 24 hour pharmacy where he purchases a box of bandaids and spends another half an hour in their bathroom rinsing his cut and trying to find a placement for one that isn’t so noticeable. Eventually, he comes to accept that he’ll just have to look a bit goofy for a period of time. With the way his skin is starting to darken and swell, he would have stuck out one way or another anyways. At least with the band aid covering most of it, he doesn’t look completely awful. It isn’t stitches, but it’s something. 

Then he spends the rest of the night in a daze, walking with the occasional smoke break, until he sees the first few rays of light from the east. It’s the light that signals to him that he might actually be tired and makes him think that maybe he should have just gone back instead of making everything so hard. 

But he was used to wandering. When he was younger, it hadn’t been by choice but as an adult he had turned it into a habit. Even when he had a standard home like Kong Studios or their home in Detroit, he still found himself leaving, sometimes disappearing for days (only when he was on a particularly long bender). Even on the island, he found himself losing hours just sitting on the dock at night. So in many ways, even in his sleep deprived state, he was used to it. And at least with the band, the door would always be open for him when he was ready to return. 

Without thinking, he pulls out his phone again, specifically to check the time. What he sees instead are two new messages. 

_ Murdoc, hey. Can we talk? Please?  _

Then another sent ten minutes later.

_ I just got back to the room. I’ll be here when you’re ready. Or if you want to text that’s okay too, and calling is also okay. Just please say something.  _

He can feel himself starting to freeze up again so he sits down right beside another motel on one of their parking blocks. For what feels like hours, all he does is stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard but unable to move. 2D messaging him first had been the scenario he was hoping for, yet he still could seem to work with it. The texts had been sent a little over two hours ago, too. 

_ Odd, _ he thinks. What had 2D been doing all the time?

It’s then that he realizes he has to do. His head hurting and his body still aching tell spell out exactly what he needs. If 2D was with him now would he think it was a good idea? Probably not, but if Murdoc was going to get himself to do something other than pace around rural North Carolina, it would have to be this way. It’s all he knows that works. 

He finds what he’s looking for another half a mile down the road. The colorful sign reads “Brew Thru,” and he walks towards it like he’s been stranded in the middle of the desert and just found and oasis. 

Unfortunately, it isn’t exactly what he expects. 

“Wine and beer? That’s it?” He asks the college age student working there. 

The employee shrugs. “Yeah. It says ‘brew,’ like, a brewery.” 

“What the hell do you expect me to do with a bloody watered down Corona?” The oasis was fast turning out to be a mirage. “And what’s this?” He motions to his left. “Blue Moon? Budweiser? This is bullshit!” 

They’re surrounded with packs of beer in refrigerators and giant ads announcing cheap beer deals. Never had Murdoc been surrounded by so much alcohol that he didn’t want. In the background, the radio crackles out a peppy Jimmy Eat World song that Murdoc remembers hating. 

_ Oh, come on, Muds. I know you know this one,  _ 2D’s voice echoes in his ears.  _ It came out right around the time we released 19-2000.  _ 2001\. Another song from 2001. Again, memories begin to creep into his head. He can feel himself in the sand and 2D smiling at him. 

“Listen, man, you don’t have to get anything, like, you aren’t even driving a car.” 

“ _..You’re in the middle of the ride, everything, everything will be just fine...” _ he song drifts through speakers, reassuring him of something he doesn’t believe. Nothing is fine. He hates the song and how 2D could be miles away and still manage to subject him to such terrible song selection. On top of it all, he’s starting notice the same jittery feeling he always gets when he hasn’t had a drink in awhile beginning to return. He was in a desperate situation. 

“Just give me a twelve pack of your strongest stout. And throw in some wine. Any wine.” he demands. 

“ _ Everything, everything, will be alright.”  _

His should cramps when he lifts the case of beer which nearly sends him into another anxious fit right there, but he pushes through it so he can get out of the building before the guitar solo ends. Then he finds a closed off space behind an old antique store and cracks open the first can. 

It takes about four beers for him to notice the familiar, flighty feeling of a buzz. The nerves start to fade away and he slides down into a sitting position, leans his head back against the wall and sighs in relief. Finally, some peace. 

For the hell of it, he looks at his messages again. The feeling of dread is still there, but it’s faded - close, but not good enough. He takes another gulp out of the fifth can.

The space he’s chosen this time is less hospitable. He’s surrounded by weeds that have pushed themselves through cracks in the cement and the central air of the building is not far away making even more loud whirring noises. The woods, those same woods, a mere few feet away. If anyone saw him there was no doubt in Murdoc’s mind that they would think he was some sort of homeless person who had hit rock bottom with his growing pile of empty beer cans strewn around him and badly bandaged eye injury. He doesn’t even want to know how swollen it looks by now. 

_ And I’d tell them to fuck off. I’ve been lower than this,  _ he thinks, smirking. Who was anyone to judge him? This was making him feel  _ better _ . 

Suddenly, something large and black flaps past his head. 

He ducks. “Shit!” 

The raven squawks back at him in a voice that almost sounds like it’s trying to imitate him and he has to do a double take to make sure he isn’t hallucinating. Very briefly, he wonders if it’s Cortez but this bird has an odd appearance. Where the entirety of Cortez’s plumage was a dark, midnight black, the raven perched on the ground in front of him has one white feather on its right wing. 

He doesn’t dwell on it. This was just some stupid no-name bird that was probably going to try take a shit on him like the pigeons in New York. Frowning, he grabs an empty can and hurls it at the bird, who flies away just in time. However, rather than leave, it perches right on the central air machine right to the left of  where he’s sitting and squawks again. “Rude,” is what it sounds like this time. 

Murdoc stares at it, puzzled. He looks from his beer back to the raven and then back at his beer again. He was drunk, possibly more than he thought since he was drinking on an empty stomach, but he knows he is not drunk enough to be imagining things. Still, he tries to brush it off with the hope that it will fly away.

But the raven doesn’t leave. It stares at him quietly until he finishes the can. “He’s looking,” it says.

_ It says? _

Eyes wide, Murdoc snaps his head back in the direction of the bird, beer can crumpling in his grip.

“She’s looking.” It turns its head sideways as it squawks again. 

“What?” He was hearing things. He has to be hearing things.

“He’s looking. She’s looking. I’m looking.” The raven flaps its wings and another breeze flows through the space.

Murdoc stops himself before he asks the bird who exactly is ‘looking.’ Instead he turns away from the bird and places a hand to his head, pulling at his hair nervously. “What the  _ hell _ is happening?” he asks to no one in particular. 

Then his phone goes starts ringing, the MIDI version of “Smoke on the Water” cutting through the the uncomfortable atmosphere. Panicking, Murdoc scrambles to get it out his pocket.  _ How is it even ringing?  _ He had it set to silent last he recalled. When he looks at the screen, no number or name show up. 

But still it rings. 

“Go,” The raven says. “Find. Busco...Buscar!”

That was it. Gathering the remaining beer and wine and staggering to his feet, Murdoc runs, or at least, tries to run. It takes him a couple of stumbles before he’s able to work up to a quicker albeit haphazard and clumsy pace. “I’m going mental,” he mutters to himself as he retreats. 

“Mental!” The raven squawks and flaps its wings behind him, but doesn’t follow. “I’m going mental! I’m going mental!” It squawks and squawks until Murdoc is far enough away that he can no longer hear it.    


He goes as quickly as he can in the opposite direction of where there raven, driven by pure adrenaline. Intrusive images of the abandoned house force their way into his head and he comes to the morbid conclusion that he is probably going to die. Or at the very least, he wasn’t getting out of this trip with one shred of the little sanity he had left. Whatever they had awakened in that house had attached itself to him and now it was too late. Did stopping the trip even have any point? And what of his mother? Was she trying to protect him from this or was she just out to destroy him like everyone else in his life?    


_ She loves you. She loves you. She loves you. _ Why didn’t it feel that way right now? 

He walks for what feels like hours, ruminating on these questions, unsure of where he’s going other than  _ away _ . It isn’t until he staggers into the parking lot of bar where they were last night the he realizes that he stops. And then he remembers. His stomach twists into knots and it’s like he is back in that moment of watching 2D walk away. 

It takes the rest of the beer pack, half the bottle of wine and one bathroom break in the woods to make his dull his feeling of failure and make his world tilt and blur. 

He feels his phone buzz and breathes a sigh of relief. His settings still worked. 

_ Do you want me to leave? _

_ 2D.  _ His heart jumps. There was so much wrong with him, with his family, with his search, but 2D was still there. He looks down at his phone with unfocused eyes, the fear he had been carrying around since the night before all but gone and replaced by a feeling of urgency. He doesn’t want him to go, especially now that he was going to die. He wants the exact opposite and now, without the useless parts of his personality holding him back, he was going to show him. He smiles a dazed smile and types in the reply,  _ Nooo! =( I’m comimngf!  _ And hits send without bothering to correct the typo. 

It’s easier typed than done. He doesn’t remember their room number, and he’s left stumbling around in the parking lot before finally, a door opens and he sees a familiar flash of blue hair. 

“Muds?” 2D calls to him. He’s wearing a loose fitting shirt and pajama pants, and he has a terrible case of bed head. Murdoc thinks he’s like to run his hands through that hair. “It’s...it’s uh, over here.” There’s hesitation in 2D’s voice, as if he isn’t sure what to expect.

“2D...” he waves his hand and drags out the ‘d’ sound, speech slow. He goes to run in his direction but is on the ground in seconds, the cement hot on his palms. 

He’s still staring at the ground when he feels 2D pulling him up. “We should get you inside,” he hears him say.

“Yeahhh, we should,” Murdoc slurs, a mischievous yet lopsided grin on his face. “That’s m’language you’re speaking.” 

But 2D isn’t paying attention. “Where were you all night, Murdoc? I was worried I...I don’t know. You weren’t replying. I had no idea where you were.” 

“I’m here now.” Murdoc leans on his shoulder as they make their way through the doorway. They both almost trip over a stray pizza box that was left on the floor, presumably from earlier in the day or the night before. “...Your hair looks...blue,” he adds.

Clearly more focused on getting them into the room, 2D doesn’t let him go once. Murdoc can feel him grip his waist more tightly when he starts to slip, and he can hear his heavy breathing as he kicks the door closed. Then he starts apologizing. “I’m..I’m so sorry, Muds. I don’t know what I was thinking. You...you don’t need this right now. I should have asked or I should have just told you but I’m not too good at this...my timing is shit.” 

Murdoc half moves and half falls off his shoulder to standing face to face and falls into him again. Grabbing his shoulders to steady himself, he looks into his eyes, or at least tries to. His vision is so unfocused it looks like there are two 2Ds in front of him, but it doesn’t matter to him right now. What matters is that despite the murkiness of his senses, his feelings are clearer than they ever have been and his mind is empty and his body is relaxed. “Nooo,” he says, leaning into him closer. “Your timing...was perfect.” 

His words hang in the air for a few moments as they stare at each other, each trying to process the weight of their last exchange. They’re close enough that Murdoc can feel the warmth of his breath on his face as he looks at him, eyes wide with surprise, close enough that all he would need to do is lean in a little bit closer. He can’t stall any longer. So, inelegantly, he throws his arms around his neck pulls him down into a fervent kiss. 

This seems to ignite something in 2D who pulls him closer and tangles his fingers in his hair with a rigor that catches him by off guard, and he holds him tightly as if this could be the last time they would ever see each other, tongue slipping into his mouth which Murdoc welcomes with a low moan. He welcomes everything this time. With his mind as hazy as it is, the voices and the memories are faded and insignificant while the touch of 2D’s hands and growing heat between them is amplified. He wonders if this is what it’s like to feel truly immersed in someone as he grazes his nails along the curves of his shoulder blades, and 2D shivers in response.

They stumble around the room, their touching urgent and lacking in any sort of grace, only want. He tugs at the fabric of 2D’s shirt while 2D’s hand traces the outline of his jaw and messes up his hair while the other keeps them pressed together. The closeness leaves him dizzy.

Their stumbling eventually leads them to the dresser. Murdoc clings to 2D even harder to keep from falling completely backwards when he feels the small of his back hit the piece of furniture. But 2D is lost in his own haze and pushes him back, sliding a knee between his thighs and pressing against him eagerly. The sudden sensation earns another pleased gasp from the bassist.    


Murdoc  grinds his hips into his, placing impatient kisses down his neck. It had been so long since he had had any sort of release and now he’s craving it badly, and if the stiffness in 2D’s pants was any indication, it seemed like he was of the same thinking.

“Shit,” 2D pants in his ear. He leans his face into Murdoc’s hair and inhales. “...Wow…”

“I’m all yours t’night,” Murdoc mumbles into his neck. “No more...running.”

2D places another kiss on his head, but backs away slightly. And as slight as it is, Murdoc has to move with him to keep his legs from buckling. The hands that were holding him so firmly just moments earlier are on his face now, moving him so that their his half-lidded eyes meet 2D’s. “Murdoc,” he says.

“There’s more where that came from, love,” Murdoc replies, ignoring the change his tone of. He thinks that 2D is going to kiss him again. 

There’s a yearning in 2D’s face when brushes his bangs out of his face. “Christ, Muds,” he says, voice low. “How much have you had to drink? I...we can’t...” 

His brain isn’t working fast enough to make sense of what was happening. He drank the beer to make himself better, to show 2D how he felt, and up until now he thought it was going well, but the way 2D is talking to him isn’t matching up. 

Murdoc stares at him momentarily and then, to try to prove a point pushes him away and tries walking to the bed himself. He makes it a few steps but stumbles and then half-sits and half-falls onto the ground. 

2D is by his side in no time, pulling him up again. “I...I think you should lie down, Muds,” he says.

“Are you going to lie down with me?” He flirts - a final attempt to play off his growing confusion. 

“No, not right now.” 

The response stings in the same way it did when they were in New York. Here he was, making it as easy as possible and the singer was rejecting him. He’s flabbergasted. “Why?” 

2D looks at him sadly, the same want still evident in his eyes. “It’s okay, okay? We can talk about uh...all of this tomorrow.” 

Murdoc makes an ungainly attempt to kiss him again but 2D gives him a gentle push onto the bed before he can and he falls on his back. The motion causes his vision to blur. “Wha..What the…?” he forces out as he waits for the room to stop moving. “Why?! This is what you wanted!” 

2D sits on the bed and places a hand on his knee. “Whenever this has happened before…” His voice is distant. “The next day you...you always pretend it didn’t happen.”

The statement triggers a host of different fragmented memories to resurface. He doesn’t say anything. 

“But, uh, never mind about that. That isn’t the point,” 2D continues. “The question isn’t what I want. What...what do you want, Murdoc?”

“What you want!” he blurts out desperately. “Stu....” He just wants that moment back, to feel that warmth and to make up for so many lost years. He was doing everything he could to show him that last night’s kiss wasn’t a mistake, but his best efforts didn’t seem to be enough. For some reason incomprehensible to him, 2D only seemed to want him when he was the worst version of himself. 

2D thumbs a crease in his jeans where his leg is bent. “Don’t feel bad, Muds, please...” he says, as if sensing his growing distress. “I’m so, um, I don’t know how to say it, really. I’m so happy you’re here with me and safe but...you’re not all there right now and, uh, I’m not going to do that to you.”

“But I’m here,” Murdoc struggles to push himself up but his arms won’t listen. The alcohol and exhaustion keep him where he is. “I’m right here.”

“Are you?” 2D asks quietly. “You can hardly walk.”

It’s then that the alcohol starts working against him and a different class of emotions begins to well up in his throat, behind his eyes. Was it embarrassment? Shame? Whatever it was, he feels terrible and he’s too inebriated to even begin to understand where it’s all coming from. Not wanting 2D to see him, he doesn’t argue any further and swings an arm over his eyes.

With everything dark and having conceded, he again tries to focus on his breath which comes out shaky and uncharacteristically timorous as he tries to keep any of his internal turmoil from being noticed. 2D seems to pick up on this too, and sits with him until his breathing is steady and the muscles in his face and neck start to relax. And just as he’s finally starting to drift off he feels him give his knee a gentle squeeze. “It’ll be alright, Murdoc,” he says. Murdoc doesn’t know if he believes it, but it’s enough to convince him that for now, in this moment, he’s okay and they’re okay. 

And for the first time in nearly twenty four hours, he falls asleep. 

* * *

It’s dark. He hears something scraping, a harsh sound like a rusted nail on a chalkboard and heavy footsteps. It’s coming up behind him but he can’t tell which direction to run. Around him, he hears voices whispering, pressured and urgent, yet the words are unintelligible. They only get more frantic as the footsteps get closer and the scraping louder. Then he hears a scream.

Murdoc’s eyes snap open. He flails around momentarily, kicking off the blanket he assumes 2D must have laid on him after he fell asleep, and sits up. He takes a moment to get his bearings as his heart pounds relentlessly. It was like it always was - seconds ago he had been sure he was going to die, and he still wasn’t sure he was completely safe. 

The screaming is still there, but he soon sees that it’s coming from the latest poorly acted, indie horror movie 2D happens to be watching that day. 

“You’re up,” 2D remarks through a mouthful of chips. “Bad dreams?”

Murdoc doesn’t really know what to say to him. He only remembers bits and pieces of last night- that they were kissing and that 2D stopped it. He rests his head in his hand, wincing. “I feel like shit, especially my head.” He glances towards the screen. “And that shit movie of yours isn’t helping.” How was 2D acting so casual?

“It’s called  _ Zombeaver vs Octofish _ ,” 2D points to the screen. “See, the zombie beaver is fighting the half-fish, half-octopus monster thing. You want to watch it with me?” 

“It feels like someone dropped and anvil on my head...can’t be arsed to move anytime soon, so do I have much of a choice?” he grumbles.

2D grins. “This one is actually pretty good, probably the best of the series. It’s keep you in suspense.”

“Christ. There’s a series?” 

“You just don’t know who’s going to win. The octofish has its tentacles that strangle, but the zombie beaver’s teeth are strong enough to snap through bones like twigs - it’s a pretty even match.” 

“Wow, the suspense is killing me,” Murdoc says sarcastically. 

2D glances at the nightstand between both of their beds. “And I picked up some breakfast for you. They were out of a lot by the time I got there so some of if I bought from the vending machines...and that bagel was in one of drawers when we got here so maybe don’t eat that one unless you’re really hungry.”

Murdoc looks to the side and sees a plate piled with various carbohydrates. In addition to the suspicious bagel 2D has also gotten him a muffin, a box of cereal and a bottle of water. “I know what to do about hangovers.” He rolls his eyes. “This isn’t exactly a first for me.” Inside, his stomach aches with an uncomfortable combination of emptiness and nausea. “But really, monster movies and another food raid? Don’t tell me this is what you did with yourself all day yesterday.” He grabs the muffin.    


2D looks down at his bag of chips. “No. Not really I spent most of yesterday sleeping...or trying to sleep. I don’t know, it just felt like all the energy was knocked out me since...well…”

Murdoc averts his gaze as well, unsure of how to proceed. His mind drifts to his own stash of alcohol he had packed for himself before he left Detroit. He wonders if there’s any of that left because he’ll need something or else he’ll get jittery. “I know,” he finally says, hoping that he doesn’t end up regretting it. “I remember.” 

2D lifts his head up at this again, eyes wide with surprise yet hopeful. “Are...are you upset?...It’s okay if you are. I would understand.” 

After a few seconds of hesitation, Murdoc shakes his head. “But to be frank,” he adds. “This is all a bit of a mind fuck for me.” 

2D’s face falls. “I’m sorry.”

“No, not like that.” Murdoc takes in a deep breath. “Am I right in believing you meant everything in the Miss America speech of yours that you gave the other night?”

“...Yeah.”     


“So why did you stop?” Conversations like these are alien to him. Any time he used the drunk and horny approach in the past the person either went home with him or they told him to fuck off and that was that.   


“You weren’t thinking clearly.” 2D replies plainly as if they were talking about some benign topic like which songs to put on their Spotify playlists or where in the house they should put their one Grammy. “I, um, I’m not trying to be mean but you were practically passing out on me. I was holding you up...I don’t want to sleep with you like that.”

“I don’t know how I could have made myself any clearer, throwing myself at you like that.” Murdoc glares at him. “You have some nerve telling me what I was and wasn’t thinking.”

“You know, Murdoc, I didn’t kiss you because all I wanted was- “

“What?” Murdoc snaps. “What else could you possibly want?”  _...From someone like me? _

2D’s face falls at this. He can see it again, that familiar, pitying look that he hates. “Muds…”

“Let me ask this again - why are you here?” Murdoc tries to pretend it doesn’t feel like the singer is staring into the depths of his soul. “Can I you answer me that now? What in Satan’s name could have possessed you to follow me across the country to who the fuck knows where…”

It’s then that 2D turns the TV off and sets the chips aside. Then he pulls his travel bag onto his bed and pulls out his journal. “Um...do you mind if I read you something?”

Murdoc eyes the journal, wary. “What happened to all that about me having to write in it before I could read anything?” In the chaos the past two days, he had forgotten how intrigued he was by it.

2D bite his pinky nail nervously. “I..I know. But I think this is important and...I’m so bad with words.”

Murdoc mulls over the proposition, staring down at the muffin in his hand. “...Alright,” he finally says, his voice comes out quiet and uncertain. “However you want to do it then...”

2D nods and opens the journal to the first entry. “May 25th, 2016,” he reads. “I’m thinking about the first day I met Murdoc. I don’t mean the day of the car crash...or the second car crash. I mean the first night we went for some drinks and talked.”

Murdoc remembers. It had been a few months after 2D had woken up from his coma. The singer had given him a ring asking him if he wanted to meet up somewhere in Crawley because he wanted to thank him, and Murdoc had obliged. He remembers the elation he felt when he received that call - after driving him home to his parents and leaving him with a hasty offer to join his band as a keyboard player he never thought he would hear from him again. 

“He’s standing by the bus stop and leaning against the lamp post, smoking a cigarette. His clothes are all tattered and falling apart but he walks about with this sense of confidence like he’s so sure of himself, he has hope. I can’t quite find the words to describe everything that is Murdoc - his movements or his expressions or the way his eyes light up when he talks to me about his dreams - but one thing I can say is that Murdoc is alive. He’s more alive than anyone I’ve known...or me for that matter. He terrifies me in this way, but there’s also a fragility to him that I can’t figure out. It’s strange to think of someone so strong as fragile but Murdoc is bit of an unexplained contradiction, unknown and uncharted like one of those super storms I used to watch people chase on TV. I think this is the moment I decide I want to know him.”

Murdoc shifts in his seat but doesn’t interrupt him. 2D’s assessment of him from over twenty years ago on the first night they really met was so close to the realization he had about himself only just last night. 

2D’s eyes search the page in front of him. “Umm...okay..I think we can skip this part and...Where was that part again?” He pauses. “Here it is.” He taps his finger on the page to remind himself where to start.  “We stop and have a sing along with a couple of street buskers for the hell of it. I sing this old Beatles’ song, it’s nothing special, but when I do, he looks at me like I’m the only other person in the world - Murdoc does! I’ve never really stuck out much, but tonight I feel extraordinary.”

“Before that night...I didn’t know you could sing,” Murdoc says. He meant to think it, but it tumbles out anyways. 2D  had hit the high note in “Hey Jude” and, for a few seconds, 2D had been all he could focus on. And for once, he didn’t feel stupid for hoping. He saw his future and he saw his way out, at age 31, all in those few seconds. If he were to cite a moment that he decide he wanted to know 2D, it would undoubtedly be that one.

“He doesn’t have anywhere to go that night,” 2D continues to focus on reading. “He doesn’t tell me this, but when I ask him how he’s getting home he doesn’t say anything specific and he’s completely smashed, so I let him stay over. He calls me calls me ‘two-dents’ and...kisses me...and I can’t stop thinking about it. I want to know him, who he is and how he works. ”    


Murdoc takes a nervous bite out of the muffin that had been sitting in his hand, forgotten up until this point. He didn’t have much to offer anyone at the time besides promises he hoped would come true, but 2D had been kind to him despite all of that, on top of his exceptional singing, had caught him off guard. He didn’t trust easily back then, no more than he did now, but he trusted 2D that night because of that  part of him that still hoped and longed for some sort of tenderness no matter how hard he tried to destroy it or berated himself for holding onto it. Perhaps kissing him was his sad, needy way of showing him that. At the same time, he had kissed many a stranger for less and he can’t remember well enough to know what he was trying to say with that kiss back then. He averts his eyes. 

“I agree to join our band that night and the following morning he’s gone before I wake up.” 2D exhales slowly and closes the journal. “I’ve written a lot of journal entries about this and spent a lot of time processing it,” He says. “...and not just about all that. You’ve told me a lot, Murdoc. It’s never been anything specific but it’s enough for me to have so many question. It’s strange to know so much about someone but also nothing at all. I don’t know how much you remember, or why you tell me what you do but it means something to me, and I think it has to also mean something to you since...well...you’re the one doing the telling. We can, uh, talk about that more specifically later if you want but what I’m saying is when you left I just...couldn’t let it end there, not without knowing. Of course there was also a part of me that thought maybe you leaving was the best thing that could have happened to me, but I couldn’t risk never seeing you again or never knowing if you were okay. ”

Besides 2D’s voice, the only sound in the room is the whirring of the air conditioning. It’s rare Murdoc ever feels at a loss for words but all he can do is stare at the ground, mind racing with questions. 

“So...why am I here?” 2D repeats his question. “Because I know you...not all of you but more than the average person, even the parts of you that you always seem to want to hide - like the fact that you’re a hopeful person even though you try to come across as a cynic, that you’re scared sometimes, that you still have it in you to care about a mother you never met, even though you think she abandoned you. Those parts of you are good, Muds. I saw glimpses of them in you the first day we really met and since traveling with you now, I’ve seen those qualities come out more and more...” He pauses. “I’ve been feeling something for you,  _ everything  _ about you, for bloody years, decades, really, and...I think I’ve finally got it figured out.” He looks up, a sense of conviction in his expression. “But I can’t figure it out completely without you.”

Murdoc feels like he’s back in the bar, immobile and incompetent. He isn’t quite sure if he’s understanding it all correctly, but he thinks 2D might be trying say that he loved him.  _ Wrong. WRONG. _ That was too strong a word. Perhaps 2D was trying to say he saw the  _ potential to care  _ for him. But no one loved him, and the thought of it sounds impossible and overwhelming. “....Fuck,” is the only word that finds its way out of his mouth. 

“I...I know,” 2D says. “I feel like shit piling this all on you, especially now.”

Murdoc shakes his head again. “2D…” he says. “That kiss outside the bar...is the only thing on this cursed trip that’s made any sense...” He leaves it at that and hopes it will suffice. It’s all he can manage to say right now. He tries to smile for good measure even though he’s still looking at the ground.

They’re silent again and Murdoc thinks. What did he want from this? What did 2D want? 

“Sooo…” 2D breaks the silence. “Um…”

“So was all that saying you fancy me and, er, want to date?” It sounds so odd coming from him. He’s never really had any sort of long term relationship, he isn’t even sure he’s had any short term relationships. 

2D doesn’t confirm or deny his question but Murdoc can see him becoming flustered which tells him he is on the right track. “We, uh, don’t have to call it anything specific.”

“It, err...it isn’t exactly my brand...never has been.” He keeps pulling pieces off of the muffin but not eating them and it’s slowly turning into a pile of crumbs in his hand. “There…” In his chest, his heart races wildly. “...There’s something wrong with me. I walked around all night and day yesterday and that’s what I figured out.” His throat tightens. “I tried to get this cut on my head taken care of last night and I cocked that up spectacularly. It’s just all wrong.”  _ I’m all wrong _ , he thinks again.  _ And I don’t know how to stop. _

“It’s okay, we...don’t have to have it all figured out today,” 2D’s voice is soft and he finds it comforting.  So when he gets up from his spot on his bed and walks over to him, Murdoc doesn’t tense. “Can I take a look?”

Murdoc nods. “I’m sure it’s infected or oozing pus, but have at it.” 

But his relaxed state is short lived The second he sees 2D’s hand coming towards his face, he wants to run. Being on the bed, he can only jerk his head away. 

“I’m sorry!” 2D says as he pulls his hand back. 

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” But his voice comes out strained and fearful. It isn’t fine. And on top of it all, he’s angry at himself for reacting to 2D the same way he would any stranger, even though he knows better.  “I...I’m going to take a shower.” He can’t bear to sit through this moment. 

“A shower?” As confused as he sounds, 2D still seems to sense that something isn’t right. “Murdoc, I…”

Murdoc doesn’t wait for him to finish his sentence and retreats hastily to the bathroom. 

His shower consists of turning the on the water and sitting next to the tub, lost in his thoughts, mostly negative. He isn’t used to feeling so pathetic. Yet 2D was right about one thing - he did hope. It ran in direct opposition to everything life had ever taught him, but he did. That part of him tells him he has a chance to finally fulfill that emptiness even as all the other voices in his head tell him it’s too dangerous or that he’s too worthless or that 2D is lying to him. They try to get him to run away again. 

Eventually, he musters up the energy to strip and stand under the water, flinching again as the hot water hits his back. The band aid on his forehead is the next to fall off. He dabs it lightly with soap and washes the rest of himself quickly. He’s never liked showers that much either. 

When he goes to leave the bathroom, he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. As clean as he is, his appearance is still disheveled and tired. The skin above his eye is dark and swollen, but he can see a scab has formed.  _ Gross. _ He doesn’t want to dwell on it any longer, wraps a towel around his waist and heads for his suitcase.

He can feel 2D’s eyes on him as he digs through his bag for a new pair of underwear and jeans. A part of him tells him to try to reignite the moment they lost last night, maybe let his towel “accidentally” fall off, but a different part, one he isn’t so used to hearing, holds him back. He can’t tell whether the stare is a good one or a bad one. After all, he had been the one to cut their last interaction short to run to the shower. 2D probably thought he was mad at him. He turns around and immediately the singer looks away, pretending to have been reading the label on the bag of chips. 

“You’re really obvious, you know,”  Murdoc remarks. 

“I just..I...” 2D stammers. “I didn’t mean any harm back there.”

“I know.” Murdoc runs a nervous hand through his hair. There’s no use denying it anymore. Without enough alcohol in him he’s a sad, jumpy, pathetic mess. “Of course I know. When I said this trip didn’t make any bloody sense, I was including me. I don’t make any sense.” 

Relieved, 2D sends him a small smile. “You went to the pharmacy and got yourself some band aids, then you came back here and took a shower and cleaned yourself up. You might not make sense most of the time, but all of that? That makes sense...so I guess you make sense.”

To the best of his ability, Murdoc manages a weak grin back. 

“So...um…” 2D make a gradual move to sit down next to him. “About what I said…”

Murdoc takes in a deep breath. Physical and emotional involvement with 2D - the physical part he longed for, the emotional part scared him yet the two seemed to be linked for him this time. It all seemed  foreign and incomprehensible to him. Did he trust that tiny optimistic part of himself? “I...don’t know,” he says. “And it isn’t because of you, 2D. I..I had you bothering me in my head all day yesterday but, there’s so much wrong…”

“I’ve been thinking about this off and on for years...Can’t say I have much doubt left, I think I can handle some ‘wrong’...we both can.’” 

Murdoc turns his attention back to the his bag and digs around until he finds the last can of beer he packed. 

“How about what I said earlier...um, you know, the thing about learning as we go?” 2D asks. “Whatever this is...we go slow.”

Murdoc cracks the can open and takes a gulp. “Yeah,” he says blocking out his anxious thoughts and the monsters that might be real and the violent hands. He tries to only focus on 2D. 2D had touched him gently last night and while the memories were all still there, now he had other better ones. Yes, he decides, he could try to trust himself and try to trust...this thing they were going to try. “I could...give that a go.”

2D freezes. “Really? Do you mean that?”

“Yes, 2D. I didn’t just spend all that time thinking just to lie.”

And just like that, the room feels brighter and a weight seems to be lifted off of him. The grin on 2D’s face tells him that he must feel it too. He reaches for the remote. “So, there’s another movie on…”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. So this was how they were celebrating. “What now?”

“It’s called  _ Zombeaver in Space _ .”

“You’ve got be kidding me. Just how many shitty movies has that studio inflicted on the world?” 

“It’s a new one.” 2D nestles the chips in his lap. “But I didn’t want to turn it on until I knew you were okay.” He then scoots over on the bed until there’s enough space for another body. “ _ Now  _ do you want to watch it with me?”

Murdoc stares at him for at least a full minute, unsure of how to interpret his invitation. “Are you asking me if I want to shag?” He blurts the question out before he can think it through. 

2D looks at him, puzzled. “No, I’m asking if you want to watch a movie with me. I haven’t seen this one yet so actually, I do want to watch it...not that I don’t want to shag...just not right now. I didn’t know if you would want to share the crisps and it would be easier if you were next to me for that.”

Murdoc nods along, trying to compute what he’s saying. “Okay…”

“And I just thought we could watch something. Together,” 2D says. “We haven’t watched a movie together in awhile.” He raises an eyebrow. “You look like you’re having trouble following.” 

He still sort of is, but he wasn’t going to admit it. “Well, I’m not,” he grumbles as he pulls on a faded pair of jeans, not caring what 2D sees as he does so. He and 2D hadn’t spent time together like this in awhile, that much the singer was right about, and with the new development in their relationship, he realizes he’s treading into a social situation he isn’t so used to. Still, he sits on the bed with him. “I never turn down an opportunity to watch some blood and guts.”

The movie is as nonsensical as he expects it to be. A scientist who gets picked to go into space with a team of astronauts to colonize Mars carries out an ulterior plan to see if a special serum he’s been working on to accelerate species evolution and adaptation. For some reason, he sneaks a pair of zombie beavers on the spaceship and injects them with the serum only to have them develop super strength, break out of their cages and wreak havoc on the crew.

“I can practically feel my brain melting in my head with each passing minute...but I do want a gram of whatever this director was smoking.” 

“The captain is such a prick,” 2D says through a mouthful of chips. “Hogging the entire escape pod and leaving the rest of the crew behind.”

“You can see how flimsy the premise is, can’t you?” Murdoc says. “This ‘scientist’ has his pick of any species in the world and he picks the undead, flesh-eating rodents?”

Suddenly, a beaver jumps out from behind the captain’s seat and sinks its teeth into his arm and tears it clean off. Blood sprays everywhere. The CGI effects are comically bad.

“Ha! That’ll show him!” 2D snorts. 

Murdoc does his best to remain unimpressed but eventually the bad acting gets to him and he can’t contain his laughter. 

2D starts laughing too. “This is pretty dumb, isn’t it?” 

They continue with their banter until the credits roll.

“Well that was one hell of a fucking ride,” Murdoc says, wiping tears out of the corner of his eyes. “How do you find these movies?”   


2D shrugs. “I dunno. Just do.” He turns to him and observes, “You’re happy.” 

Murdoc freezes. “What?”

“You’re happy,” 2D repeats. “And your cut looks like it’s closed up a little.” 

“Yeah, so?” Murdoc looks down at the beer in his hand. He had been happy just then, or something close to it. But hearing it throws him off. He shivers. He doesn’t remember it being so chilly.

“Are you cold?” 2D asks. “I don’t blame you. The air conditioning in here has been stuck to keeping it feeling like winter in here. I’ve tried turning the dial every which way but the temperature doesn’t change.” He stops to think, and just as Murdoc is about to get up to fish a shirt out of his suitcase he says. “You don’t have to move. I’ve got just the thing…” He pulls his own bag up onto the bed and roots around until he digs out the blue Primark sweatshirt he bought when they were in Stoke.

Murdoc leans away and frowns. “No, I’m not wearing  _ that, _ not if it was the last article of clothing on earth.” 

“In Buddhism, we believe in the saṃsāra - that our world goes in cycles. I wore the sweatshirt and now you wear the sweatshirt. It’s like us coming full circle...in our own circle...kind of.” 2D tosses the sweatshirt at him. “It’s also really warm.” 

Murdoc glowers at the clothing in his lap until the air comes on again and goosebumps form along his arms. “Goddamnit,” he mutters and pulls it over his head, wincing when the fabric hugs his forehead too tightly. “There. Are you happy?”

“Are you warm now?” 

He was. “I guess I am.” 

2D smiles. “Good.” 

They sit there on the bed together in silence, as if neither one know exactly what the next step is. Murdoc knows what his next step usually is, and with his beer almost gone, he was approaching the point where he would make a move, but he isn’t sure. At the same time, he’s slowly realizing that it’s all he really knows how to do. “So, uh, 2D?” He says.

2D looks at him, inquisitive. “Yeah?”

“You do eventually want to shag, right?” Spending time together was fine, but he’s missing that feeling he had last night. He wants to be close to him. 

“Of course I do. I just want you to be ready, too.”

“I’m ready,” Murdoc says. 

2D smiles sympathetically at him. “You agreed a little while ago that you wanted to go slow.”

“I wasn’t talking about the getting off part, I was talking about the...other parts.”   


“Well, I think all the parts of this...thing that we’re doing should move at the same pace...because they’re supposed to be connected, you know?” He grabs another handful of chips. “I don’t know why you’re so rushing yourself. This isn’t race, Muds. I’m not going anywhere...hopefully you aren’t either.”

Murdoc shifts his gaze at the bag, pensive. “I’m not. This is all just...so bloody weird is all.” 

“That’s why we’re going slow,” 2D says. “There’s a lot to figure out, for both of us. If, uh, it makes you feel any better - I wish it didn’t, but you seem stuck on it - I wanted to keep going last night too...”

It does and it doesn’t. “I knew it!” he exclaims. “I could feel your cock through your pants. Why did you stop?” 

2D sighs. “You know why. I just told you.”

“That didn’t stop you all the other times.”

2D stops mid-chew. “Murdoc, I didn’t... _ we  _ didn’t ever go that far. I would  _ never _ do that to you.” 

“Woah, no need to get all dramatic about it. You’re acting like I just accused you of something mental...like killing your own mum or selling organs on the deep web,” Murdoc grumbles. 

The worried, pitying look in 2D’s eyes tell him that he’s said something wrong, though he can’t imagine what that could be. He finishes off his can of beer and uses both hands to partially crush the can. 

“I guess what I’m saying is that I want this to be...different than before,” 2D says. “Not all of it - I do still remember the old times with fondness - but some of the other times…”

They’re silent again, both ruminating on what was now an over twenty year relationship. Ostensibly, it was a working relationship but, maybe, Murdoc thinks, it had been more than that for longer than he had ever cared to recognize. They had hated each other, too. In fact, he had 2D placed in the category of people who didn’t like him up until he left showed up in Stoke with him. Idly, he wonders how much he must have been blind to, how much he had missed. He finds himself wanting to try to remember those rather than remember his past mistakes. They had already been hammered into him for the year leading up to  _ Humanz  _ and beyond. He isn’t revisiting it again right now. So he stays silent.

Eventually, 2D comes to understand this. “But it’s like I was saying - there’s no rush. That being said…” He holds back for a moment before finally asking, “Where do we go from here?”   


Murdoc raises an eyebrow. “Where?”

Worry begins to creep onto 2D’s face. “Are we going home or are we still...searching?”

Right, the search.  _ His  _ search. “I..uh…”  _ Trust, _ he reminds himself. That was the new thing he was trying. Memories of the raven, the vision in the house and his own premonition that he might die or lose his mind all tell him to go home. But at the same time, he thinks about what’s gained or starting to gain, things he never fathomed he would have. “...I never had any intention of stopping.”

And when he sees the other smile, he feels his heart jump.

“Alright!” 2D takes a celebratory mouthful of chips and makes an awkward attempt to fist bump him. When Murdoc just stares at him, he puts his hand down. “It was the song wasn’t it?”

“The ‘song’ almost made me change my mind and go home.” A small smile pulls at the corners of his mouth. “But...you, er, sounded great...up there.” 

His words seem to give the singer an extra jolt of energy. He jumps off the bed and is back with the letters within seconds. Murdoc doesn’t think he’s ever seen him move that fast.

“I put them all in order,” he says. “I didn’t open any of them, I promise, but as worried as I was, I had a feeling this wasn’t the end.” He pulls out a stack of about ten envelopes and hands them to Murdoc. “Because, you know what I say - It’ll be alright in the end. And if it’s not alright, it’s not the end.”

“You didn’t say that. Lennon said that.” Murdoc flips through the stack and sees that they’re all from the same address.

“No, his is different,” 2D says. “And when you didn’t follow me or answer my texts, it was the opposite of alright. The motto came in handy then.”

Murdoc ignores him. “It looks like she lived here up until I was fourteen.” Then, out of nowhere yet again, an ache hits his shoulder and he winces, but he opens the first envelope anyways when he sees that 2D notices.  _ Why that pain again? _ “By the way, 2D, what were you doing all night when you ran off like that? I saw you didn’t get home until the morning.”  _ Don’t ask what’s wrong. Don’t ask what’s wrong. _

2D tilts his head in thought. “Oh...yeah. I didn’t mean to but...I got a little turned around. It was odd…”

Three of the envelopes have pictures in them, and Murdoc decides to look at them first. Then he sees it and nearly stops breathing. 

“There was this chilly breeze that night, too, which was also odd for this time of year,” 2D continues.

It’s the raven he saw behind the antique store. There are pictures of it perched on the porch of the house, and another of it by a window and yet another of it sitting on the mailbox. “There’s no way, no bloody way…” It couldn’t be the same raven. That was impossible. But when he looks, he sees it, the same white feather in its right wing. 

Trying to maintain his composure, he combs through the letters frantically until he finds a phrase that catches his eye.

_...I met him on a walk in the woods. He’s talented in mimicry and talks to me sometimes. I’ve even taught him some Spanish. _

How? He wants to ask. He feels faint. 

“I kept feeling like I was going in the same circle over and over and over again,” 2D continues. “Even when I used my phone, it took me the same way every time. I don’t know. But I did finally get home...Muds?” 

Murdoc can only stare at the letter in his hand, reading and rereading the same sentences.

“You look like you’re going to puke.”

He was going to do that and more.

_ He’s looking. She’s looking. I’m looking. _

“Murdoc?” 2D is at his side now, flipping through the pictures, trying desperately to understand what’s triggered such a reaction in him.    


“2D…” Murdoc says, voice low and quivering. “I…” The hand holding the letter is shaking badly now.

“What is it?” Slowly, 2D clasps Murdoc’s shaking one in his own hands.

“No..I don’t know.” Murdoc’s eyes dart around the room. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so safe anymore. Another jolt of pain runs through his shoulder. “This is bad.”

“She loved you. You know that,” 2D reminds him. 

“It’s not that.” It’s everything he feared. He hopes he’s wrong but all the signs point to one thing. Why did 2D have to take that book? “I…I think…someone...or something knows we’re looking for her.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh 12,000 words and I still can't fit everything I want to into the chapter! Now that the relationship part has started I do feel it necessary to recognize that it isn't a healthy one, but we shall see how it progresses from here (they are trying!) - more to come on that.
> 
> Additionally, some have asked whether any of my older one-shots from tumblr exist in the universe and yes, the D-Day fic I wrote last year is officially part of this story's canon! That being said, no pressure to read that, it is explained and will be explained in this story.
> 
> Anyhow, your thoughts and comments mean a lot and are greatly appreciated, thank you so much for your kudos and reviews so far <3 Also, a special shoutout to Sashkash on Tumblr for drawing some lovely fan art of this story!
> 
> Have a wonderful weekend!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Discussion of sexual assault towards the end

The following minutes go by in a blur of haphazard packing and scrambling to find the room keys and then leaving. Murdoc hears 2D’s voice trying to talk to him but it sounds fuzzy and dull like he’s speaking to him through a very thick wall. He isn’t sure he wants to know what he’s saying anyways. 

He doesn’t feel like he can breath again until he’s starting the car engine. 2D makes it into the passenger side moments before he starts pulling out of the parking lot. 

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, winded from the having to sprint across the parking lot lest he be left behind. “Were you listening to a thing I was saying?”

“Was it more important than our lives?” Murdoc challenges.   


2D has the shoebox in his lap. He pulls out the group of letters they were reading before Murdoc fixated on the raven in the picture. “She wrote to you from here quite a bit which I think means she lived here for quite a bit. She probably knew a lot of people who could have information that we need…” He glances at the dashboard as Murdoc presses on the gas. “...But you’re making us leave. Do you even know what our next stop is?”

“Out of here.” Murdoc checks his rearview mirror suspiciously. He can’t quite shake the feeling that something is watching him. 

“Why?” 2D asks. “How do you know whoever it is that knows about us is bad? What if it’s her?”

“Then that would be even worse,” Murdoc says. “I’m seeing things, 2D, and it doesn’t just happen while I’m sleeping anymore. Ever since we left that house…” He pauses, unsure of whether it’s safe to speak about it further. He doesn’t know the rules to whatever it is they seem to have awakened but he knows he isn’t prepared to break any of them at this time. “It’s only gotten worse.”

“Gotten worse? How?”   


“It’s fucking following me!” Murdoc steers into the fast lane so that he can speed the car up to well over the speed limit. “That raven in the picture there…I...I saw it. I saw it in the woods and it talked to me. I swear to Satan.”

2D digs the picture out of the papers in his hand and stares at it. “You saw _ this _ bird? Are you sure? I don’t think ravens live that long.”

“I know that, idiot! That’s the point!” 

2D sighs but doesn’t say anything. Murdoc’s thoughts fill in the blacks. 2D still isn’t grasping how serious or potentially dangerous their journey is, nor does he seem to understand how emotionally exhausting it is to maintain his trust in a parent he never knew who, at this time, was scaring him more than reassuring him. He’s interpreting Murdoc’s pancis as another one of his tantrums and nothing more. 

He sends a fearful glance over his shoulder and catches a glimpse of the grimoire still sitting unopened in the back seat. “Shit like that doesn’t make sense, but it’s happening and it’s fucking real this time. And I don’t know what it means.”

2D studies him and then turns his attention back to the letters. “Of course you don’t. I don’t either. But that’s why we’re doing this unless…” he stops. “You aren’t trying to drive home are you?” 

“No. Do you think I’m that brain dead?”

“Well then where are we going?”

Murdoc doesn’t have an answer for that because he never plans and he’s frantic, which makes his focus even worse. He imagines he would have driven until the gas ran out and they were stranded on the side of the road. Then they would have figured it out from there. “We wouldn’t even be in this situation because I would have never taken that bloody book from that house!”

“I told you I would handle that.”

“Oh that’s reassuring. If I do recall it was  _ my _ picture that fell out of it, not yours.” 

“I doubt she wanted to harm you, Muds. Whatever it is that’s going on can’t be her.” 2D unfolds the first letter in the pile.  “How about this: I read and you drive. I’m sure there’s another location in here somewhere...I’ll, uh, keep it to myself unless it’s important…”

Murdoc doesn’t argue with him about reading his mail even though there’s a part of him that wants to. This way, 2D would at least be occupied and out of his way for awhile, he hopes.

However, it’s only a matter of minutes before 2D starts to tap something into his phone’s GPS.

“What are you doing?” He grips the steering wheel tighter, unsure of why 2D’s actions are putting him so on edge. He knows he wants to keep searching and that he wants to give this relationship thing a try. Perhaps he was expecting their recent heart to heart would change something, make the world brighter or his bad thoughts quieter, but nothing feels different. He still can’t stop himself from feeling so guarded and wary.

“She mentions visiting this place called bird island and talking to some lady who lives nearby in the woods.” 

_ Great _ , Murdoc thinks. _ The woods again.  _

“I don’t know if we’ll find her but it’s worth a try. Google maps seems to know what it is so…” 2D pauses to turn the road trip playlist he found earlier back on and grins. “Off we go!”

Thankfully, they’re already driving in the right direction. It takes another forty minutes on the highway before the phone directs him to take the next exit into a sparsely populated neighborhood of mobile homes, each one looking more downtrodden than the next. The peppy road trip music 2D has playing makes for an awkward soundtrack to the drive. 

“It says we’re going to get there in ten minutes,” 2D reads off of the screen as they stop at a red light.

Murdoc has half a mind to drive through the light. One, because there aren’t any other cars around. Two, because he doesn’t like the look they’re getting from one of the locals who’s watching them from his porch. Three, because he can’t help but feel that, even after all the driving they just did, that he’s only driven closer to whatever it is he’s trying to run away from. 

He’s in the midst of his thoughts when 2D turns to smile at him. Then he feels something on his shoulder. Panicking, he slams on the gas and nearly steers the car into the lawn of the nearest home as he tries to shake whatever it is off. His mind is in too many different places, wondering if the feeling was all in his head or if it was something the grimoire had unleashed that was now trying to drag him away. Perhaps it was a memory. It had been years since one had plagued him while he was awake, but nothing would surprise him these days. 

In reality, it isn’t any of those things. He realizes this when 2D pulls away sheepishly. 

_ Just 2D. _

“What the hell was that?” Murdoc snaps, trying to regain his composure. He steers the car back on the road in time for the light to change. 

“I was just patting your shoulder.” 2D demonstrates on himself. “Like this.”  He gives his shoulder a couple pats and a quick rub.

“Why!?”

“Why?” 2D looks puzzled. “I dunno...I guess I just wanted to touch you. You know, because we’re on this trip and we’ve come so far and we’re finding things out...it’s supposed to be like me saying ‘I like you and I support you’ only without the words part. Lots of couples do that.”

The last part leaves him with the familiar feeling of self-loathing that he was feeling back at the motel and all throughout the previous night. He frowns and keeps his eyes locked on the road.

“I, uh, don’t have to call us a couple if you don’t want to,” 2D says with a tinge of sadness in his voice. 

“It’s not that,” Murdoc says. What was he thinking? Did he really believe he could ever achieve something so stable while hiding how messed up he was? “Just let me know if we pass a liquor store.” 

“Well, uh, alright, Murdoc,” 2D says. “Alright…”

The GPS soon takes them through a more populated, tourist-driven area. Murdoc is able to purchase more beer and vodka there. 2D limits him to one beer before they get back on the road. Minutes later, they arrive at a pier and a sign that says, “no cars past this point.” 

“This doesn’t look like an island, 2D,” Murdoc grumbles, squinting as the breeze blows a particularly strong gust of ocean mist into his face. Despite his annoyance, the sound of water brings about a calming feeling. It feels...familiar. 

_ Dear baby, I think I’ll call you Murdoc for the sea we’ll soon travel. _

He wonders what it must have felt like for her to leave home. He wonders if she ever made it back.

“It says this place called ‘Bird Island Reserve’ is that way.” 2D points to another sign.

“If it’s a nature reserve then good luck finding anyone living there. We probably aren’t allowed to walk more than five feet off the designated path, not that I care about that but…” He scans the beach briefly. “We also aren’t getting anywhere with all these people walking around.”

“Well, she doesn’t say this lady lives in Bird Island, she says she lives in the woods  _ around _ Bird Island,” 2D says. Then he turns to the nearest stranger walking by. “Hello, do you know where the closest woods are?” 

The person he addresses happens to be jogging and she seems annoyed that he’s interrupted her. “You’re on the beach. If you want woods you have to go back over the bridge.” She doesn’t give him a chance to ask anything else and is jogs away immediately. 

2D looks back down at the letters. “Hmm.” 

“Give me those.” Murdoc grabs the papers out of his hand and skims them. Eventually he wants to sit down and read them closely, but on a busy pier surrounded by strangers and 2D isn’t quite the ideal setting. “Okay, so this lady makes jewelry. She calls her ‘Ms. Edna’...no first name, no address, just ‘the woods.’” He finds the pictures just as vague. There are pictures of the ocean, close ups of different plants and then - “A storefront,” he says. 

2D is leaning over his shoulder in no time. “Can you read the address?” 

Murdoc stares at the picture intently. Without his glasses, it’s a lost cause. “No. Fuck.” 

“But we know what it looks like and…” 2D pulls out his phone. “We have this. I’ll just ask it to search for jewelry stores nearby. Does your mum mention the name of the store?”

“Not that I see,” Murdoc says. “But she says here it sells antiques and secondhand furniture too.” He watches as the waves crash on the ocean and recede again. They don’t have the time, but he wouldn’t have minded if they had wandered over to the nature reserve anyways.

“Aha!” 2D exclaims. “Found it. I think. It’s the same storefront, so even if it isn’t the same store anymore maybe they’ll be able to tell use who the previous owner was.” 

Murdoc nods, gaze lingering on the beach for a moment longer. Another breeze blows by, chilly on his face and he wonders why the rest of him isn’t cold. That’s when he realizes he’s still wearing 2D’s embarrassing sweatshirt. He would have to do something about that eventually.

“We can come back later if you want,” 2D suggests. 

“Yeah,” he replies. “I think I’d like that.”

* * *

 

The store is across the bridge, tucked away on a side street deep in the woods. As they pull into the dusty dirt parking like, Murdoc mentally compares it to the photo. He has trouble identifying any difference, as if the passing of time had no effect on it. He shifts the car into park and looks around the area. They seem to be the only ones there. “Seems like a idiotic place to try and run a business.”

“We should go inside before it closes,” 2D says. “The sign says it’s only open until four.”

Murdoc takes a few minutes to grab the pictures and relevant letter, and takes one deep breath in preparation to go inside. He’s halfway out of the car when 2D interrupts him. 

“What about the book?”

The book is still sitting in the back seat right next to the teddy bear which he had thrown frantically out of his way when they were leaving the motel. The two items next to each other create a strange juxtaposition. 

“I don’t want anything to do with it.” If he had been a little tipsier or if he had found it under any other circumstance he might have had a laugh and opened it, but all he can associated it with now is the basement of that house and the shuffling footsteps. He continues getting out of the car and slams the the door extra hard for emphasis. 

2D follows him up the steps and onto the porch of the store without comment. Another breeze blows by and sets off a chorus of wind chimes hanging from the porch ceiling.

2D sneezes. “Can we go inside? It’s really dusty out here. It’s also chilly. Is it something about the weather down here that makes the air so cold?”

“Speak for yourself,” Murdoc replies. “This sweatshirt of yours is roasting. I feel like I’m wearing a potato sack.” He doesn’t think he’s ever worn a hooded sweatshirt, and the realization that he had been walking around for hours in one, probably looking like a complete dweeb, leaves him concerned for his reputation.

“The blue looks nice on you.”    


A compliment. It’s benign but unexpected and it makes his heart jump, but he isn’t quite sure how to respond to it. “Yeah...sure,” he says, and opens the the screen door.

A tiny bell goes off as they enter, announcing their presence. The store is as empty as the parking lot and cluttered with old pieces of furniture, paintings and toys. Murdoc finds one shelf full of dolls especially creepy. It’s also just as dusty inside as it was outside and the corners of the ceiling are littered with cobwebs. 

“Hello there,” an elderly woman greets them from behind the counter.

“Hello,” 2D waves. 

“Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.” 

Murdoc asks, “You don’t happen to know of any old bird that goes by Ms. Edna, do you?”

The old woman grabs a cane that was leaning up against a nearby chair and shuffles closer to the part of the counter where Murdoc is standing. “You’re speaking to her right now? How can I help you?”

“I’m....er...looking for my mum…” He can feel himself starting to tense up again but he pushes the nervous feeling it brings away doggedly. It was his story, and he would have to get used to telling it sooner or later. He  _ wants _ to get used to telling it. “And I think you might have known her. She wrote about your shop in a letter she left me from the late 60s. I’ve also got this picture.” He places the letter on the counter along with the picture his mother in New York. “And that’s a picture of her...my mum.” 

The old woman shakes her head. “I’m apologize, but my vision has been fading for years. ‘Deterioration of the macula’ is what my doctor says. What was her name?”

“Rufina…”

“De la Fuente,” 2D chimes in. “It’s catchy.” 

The woman glances at 2D briefly but soon directs her gaze towards Murdoc. “I’ve known a few Rufina’s in my lifetime, some bad, some good.” Whether she could see or not makes no difference on the uncomfortable effect her stare brought with it, and Murdoc can’t shake the feeling that she’s staring directly into his soul. 

“I’ve been here many years,” she says. 

“She...she said she came here to buy some jewelry,” he says, not taking his eyes off her. “A few times.”

“Jewelry? I don’t sell jewelry here.” She leans further over the counter. “Come closer. I want to see your face.”

Murdoc narrows his eyes at her. He doesn’t dare. 

“Murdoc isn’t that drunk right now,” 2D says. “And without a certain amount of alcohol he’s kind of like a horse, you know, all skittish and stuff. So try to let him know what you’re going to do.” 

Murdoc turns to him momentarily and glares. “Really, D, is that  _ really  _ necessary?”

2D shrugs. “I just thought she should know.” 

Rolling his eyes, he leans closer over the counter. “I’m fine, by the way,” he adds, even though he isn’t. 

She stares at his face for at least a full minute. Eventually she reaches out her hand and brushes her long fingernails across his forehead. It isn’t until she places her hand down on the counter that he realizes he hasn’t been breathing. “You have a darkness hovering over you,” she says. 

“Wh-what?” 

“Following you. For years.” 

So something is following him. He wants to run, but he feels far too faint to make any sudden movement. 

Behind him, the door rings again. 

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt.” It was 2D.  _ Just 2D _ . Murdoc hadn’t even noticed he left. “But I think you should have a look at this...or a  _ feel _ at this...haha! Yeah, that makes more sense to say.” He places the grimoire on the counter. “Don’t be mad, Muds, okay?”

Murdoc is far to dazed to protest. 

The old woman runs her hands over the book and takes it in her hands, looking at it from all angles. 

“We found it in the basement of this house Murdoc’s mum lived in a bunch of years ago...which by the way - he’s Murdoc and I’m Stu, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Rufina…” The woman says. “The energy is familiar. Tell me about the house.” 

“Well,” 2D says. “It was for sale and in the middle of the woods, lots of tall grass. The porch was filled with these chimes. The wind would blow and they would all clang together and-”

“Chimes?” The old woman says. “Can you show me one? Do you know what they looked like?”

“Oh..uh, well, we didn’t take a chime when we left…Murdoc was kind of freaking out. It was like he’d seen a ghost or something...I didn’t stop to look at them because I didn’t want him to drive away without me.”

“So you know,” the woman says to Murdoc, who responds by avoids eye contact. Then she addresses both of them. “There are a few Rufinas I have in my memory, and I’ve sold all of them chimes for...various reasons. I’ll always know my own handiwork, when I made it and who I gave it to.”

“We..um, we could go back and get one?” 2D half asks, half suggests. 

“No!” Murdoc snaps out of his stupor. “I’m not going back there.” Whatever was back there was surely waiting there for him and he wasn’t going to make it that easy.

“Okay...then how about I go back?” 2D asks. 

“You?” Murdoc’s eyes widen in surprise as he tries to comprehend what 2D is actually saying. “But..how? You..you don’t know what you’re doing!”

“Yes I do, I have Google maps and it’s only a 45 minute drive. I can be up and back in no time. All you have to do is try not to get bored.” 

“2D...I…”  _ I’m worried about you. _ He can’t get the words to come out.

But he doesn’t fight with him when he takes the keys out of his hand. Because despite his fears he knows…

“We’re close to something here,” 2D says, finishing his thought for him. “I’ve got this hunch.” He wraps his arm around his shoulders and gives him a reassuring squeeze followed by a quick kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back before you can...um...recite the lyrics to..um..all of  _ Demon Days  _ frontwards and backwards in three…” he makes his way towards the door. “Two…One...” He’s just outside the door now. “Go!” 

And then he’s gone. 

Murdoc stands there, in slight shock. He can still feel the imprint of 2D’s hand on his shoulder and the feel of the kiss on his cheek and he holds onto to those sensations. They were brief, but they carry strong emotions. He feels loved and it’s unfamiliar, but nice. Perhaps things were more different than he thought.

“He loves you,” the woman observes.

Murdoc crosses his arms defensively. “I don’t know.” 

“I do,” she replies. “And you need not worry. He’ll be fine. But you? You were smart to stay.”

Her remarks make him hug himself tighter. “If you know all this then why couldn’t you just tell us which Rufina is my mother?” 

“You’re asking for the past. I stay in the present. You have to when you’re my age.” 

Murdoc huffs and turns away from her, opting to wander around the store. He soon settles on the far left corner by a bookshelf. Reading had always been a cherished activity of his and he figures he can burn two hours doing that easily. He sees books on horticulture, different fables, history and old science journals. He settles on the third issue of the  _ Journal of Humanistic Psychology. _ He flips to the main article, “Altered Beliefs, Attitudes and Behavior Following Near Death Experiences,” and decides that, considering his current situation, he might as well prepare himself and starts to read. 

But he isn’t able to concentrate for very long because he can still feel her watching him. It’s uncomfortable enough that he almost wishes he had gone with 2D. When he can’t take it any longer he turns around and stares at her back, trying to look at unfriendly as possible. 

“Yes?” She asks, unphased. Then he remembers she can’t see.

“Do you mind?” He asks, discourteous. “Don’t you have anything better to do, like maybe...I don’t know, dusting, cleaning your dentures or taking arthritis medication?” 

“You don’t like me trying to get to know you?”

“You’re staring at me.”

“You’re very interesting.” She tilts her head. “None of the Rufinas who came through here came from England. Yet you’re saying one of them is your mother.” She stares at him longer. “You carry a lot of pain. That must be quite tiring.” 

Murdoc shifts, taking a step backwards. The floorboard creaks under his weight and making his movement more noticeable than he wants it to be. “Do sweet talk all of your customers like this or am I really just that irresistible?” 

“Snippy.” The woman regards him knowingly. “I think I know who you are. But we should wait for your…” She stops. “Who is he to you?” 

Murdoc turns his gaze to the screen door, staring at the empty space where the car used to be. “I...don’t know. We’re figuring that out, not that it’s any of your business.” 

“I can tell he’s not from around here. You both must have come a long way.”

“You’re right about that.” 

“So this must be important. If this Rufina is your mother...you must not have grown up with her. 

Murdoc stays silent, holding the journal tightly in his hand. It’s hard to talk about it. If he answers one question, it will just lead to another and eventually, he’ll be backed into a corner, pressured to reveal every excruciating detail because without those details, his story won’t make sense. It comes down deciding whether he preferred to be uncomfortably exposed or risk being horribly misunderstood “We were separated. I...thought she left, but it’s turning out to be a bit more complicated than that.” He glances at the article in his hand. “You said it was good I didn’t go back. I’m...going to die aren’t I?”

“We’re all going to die.” 

Murdoc frowns. Of course she would answer that way. He doesn’t pursue the conversation any further and walks out the door. He waits there, making his way through his pack of cigarettes and enduring the constant clanging of the wind chimes, until he sees 2D pull into the parking lot. “Took you long enough,” he says as 2D locks the door. Silently, he’s relieved and unsettled - relieved that 2D made it back, unsettled that the old woman had been correct, which probably meant she was correct about something following him.  _ But she also said he loves you _ . 

“I took a whole handful.” 2D holds up multiple chimes, no more then little scraps of metal connected to each other by wire. 

They had glimmered so brilliantly in the sun the first time he saw them that Murdoc is surprised at their simple appearance. 

“And I’m glad I did. The house looked different from what it looked like when we left. The ceiling was all collapsed and...it was odd.” 

He feels jittery and grabs the car keys out of 2D’s hands to get another beer. “That’s not weird. That’s insane. Fucking insane.” He opens it in the back seat and starts to drink. 

“Come on, Muds, we have everything we need now.”

Typically, a couple beers would be enough to settle him down enough to complete his daily tasks but this time, he can’t seems stop shaking. It isn’t the lack of alcohol this time, he’s just afraid. “You can do this,” he whispers to himself. “You’re brave. She loved you so much. You can do this. You’re br-” He stops when he sees 2D standing right outside the car beside him wearing what’s probably one of the biggest grins he’s seen in their over twenty years of knowing each other. 

“You’re saying them,” 2D says. 

Murdoc can feel his face turning red. “Yeah…” But there wasn’t any use in denying it. “I guess I am…” He was saying them because they helped, even if it was only a little bit. “I still feel like shit but...not as much.” He feels the corners of his mouth starting to twitch upwards. “And it’s not like they would stop some giant demon from killing me but I guess they’ll do.” 

2D leans on the car door, a knowing smirk on his face. “Whatever you say, Murdoc.” 

They walk in after Murdoc finishes his beer with 2D charging ahead excitedly. He places the chimes and the grimoire on the counter while Murdoc hangs behind, watching suspiciously from a distance. 

“I got these from the porch.” 2D says as the woman takes one chimes off the counter and runs her fingers over it. Immediately, she starts to chuckle. To Murdoc, it sounds menacing.

“I see,” she says looking from the chime back over to Murdoc. “The trickster.” 

“The who?” 2D says. He picks one up himself and examines it. “Woah…” He turns to Murdoc and invites him over. “Muds, look.” 

Not wanting to show anymore fear, Murdoc walks over the the counter and grabs a couple of the chimes at once. At first he doesn’t see anything and then, it hits him and he can’t understand how he never saw it in the first place. “A raven,” he says. 

“These are votive offerings,” the woman says. “I carved them for her. And your Rufina…” She’s looking at Murdoc again. “She walked many roads. But she was good.” 

“What do you know?” Murdoc asks. “Where did she go? Is she still alive? Why was my picture in that book? Did she ever mention me?” The questions roll of his tongue one after the other and he can’t stop himself. “Did she love me?”

“So you’re the son,” the old woman says. “I only knew that you were not with her at that time. It’s not my business to ask why the customers here want what they want, but she did come to me about you...to ensure your safety.” The woman holds the votive in her weathered hand towards them. “I’ve been in the field for a long time and I have a strong connection with the energies of this universe. She was appealing to spirit guides for protection. I remember her urgency, she mentioned something about a curse. As you may have seen on the porch she got a little carried away but...here you are standing in front of me now so I see that they are doing their job. And if that isn’t love, well, then...” 

Murdoc can only stare at the metal trinkets in his hand with a dumbfounded expression. Protect him? 2D places a supportive hand on his shoulder but he’s too stunned for the kindness of the gesture to register or to pull away from the sudden contact. 

“Why was his picture in the book then?” 2D asks. “And if all of this was so important then why did she leave it behind. She also had one of his stuffed animals.”

“That book isn’t mine to open, and even if I could, I wouldn’t be able to read the words,” the woman says. She shifts her nearly sightless gaze to Murdoc. “But I can sense that the spells within it are protective and healing spells. I recognize them as they’re my specialty, though some of these are more complex. Depending on the magic and  culture it’s rooted in, they can require pictures of the loved one, or something that they cherish. It seems she hung on to both. She was a thorough one. A bit disorganized and maybe a bit reckless but she was a mother, and she had a son who she cared about deeply. I later heard she left unannounced, left everything behind - I would guess that is why you’ve found what you found. I don’t know where she went.”

2D gives Murdoc’s shoulder a squeeze, as if to say,  _ See? I knew she was good _ . While it does bring a slight level of relief to him, Murdoc can’t break away from the knowledge that he needed, and still needs, protection. 

“And the raven…” The woman chuckles. “And intelligent bird - crafty and resourceful. It’s built itself quite a reputation for its trickery but legend has it that it used to be a pristine white until it observed the evils of the world bringing about darkness. To bring light back to the world it had to steal the sun back and in doing so, it singed its wings and became the iridescent black we know it as today. Some look at it as a harbinger of evil but there are two sides to that bird. Your mother picked well. I remember I told her that.” 

When 2D looks at him again, there’s a new sense of understanding in his eyes that Murdoc can’t quite comprehend. 

“I’m still in danger, aren’t I?” Murdoc says, his voice quiet as he can’t decide whether he wants the question to be heard or acknowledged. 

“Why do you ask?”

“For fucks sake! Because you bloody said so when you said it was smart of me to stay away from that house!” He can hear the stress in his voice, how it goes up in pitch at the end of the sentence. “I’m seeing things, okay? It’s not just my dreams anymore, it happened while I was awake, too. A raven that should’ve been dead  talked to me the other day, I read a language off the wall that I shouldn’t have been able to read and something was chasing me but no one else seems to notice. I’m alone!” Hearing himself say it, after thinking it for so long, takes a weight off of him that he didn’t know he was holding. “I...I don’t know what to do…” It comes out small and broken. 

“They say the figures in our dreams and visions aren’t other people or things, but representation of different parts of ourselves,” the woman replies. “Do not be afraid of yourself.” 

“You said there was a darkness following me,” Murdoc snaps. “Why?! What is it?”

“Someone put it there but who and when, I don’t know.” Still, the woman seems so serene as she talks to them. “But she’s protecting you. She’s probably been protecting you for longer than you realize, have faith in her.”

Murdoc can feel himself getting dizzy and his shoulder aches under 2D’s hand. “Y-you  say that like she’s still alive,” he stammers out.

“She is.”

If 2D hadn’t been there to literally lean on, Murdoc is sure he would have fallen over.

“Do you think we can find her?” 2D asks as he wraps his arm around his shoulders, giving him another excited squeeze. “We’ve been looking really hard.”

“Oh, I’m sure she knows. She’s looking, too.”

“If you can’t open the book, then who can?” 2D asks, seeming to sense that their interaction is coming to an end. “Or I guess I should also ask if it’s even worth opening...” 

“Someone with more knowledge of Wicca tradition and with a better grasp of the texts.” 

“We’ve been following the return addresses on the letters Murdoc’s mum left and uh, the next return address is in New Orleans,” 2D says. “Do you know anything about it? I don’t think we’ve ever been there...was that ever a tour st- I mean...did we ever went on holiday there, Murdoc?”

Still in shock, Murdoc just stares.

The woman nods knowingly. “I’m familiar with the area and its people. You will learn much there. Go out to the bayou and ask around for an Ava. They’ll know her. She can help you with that book and your curse. Now, I sense our time together is ending. Your partner looks worn out.”

“That’s very vague and I have a lot more question, but okay!” 2D gives her a thumbs up.

The woman isn’t wrong about Murdoc. 2D grabs his hand and gently pulls him towards the door, and he follows along as if in a trance . Still, he regains his sense enough to park himself by the driver’s seat once they get to the car even though he can’t pull the door open or sit down. 2D makes his way over the passengers side and plays on his phone until Murdoc is ready. They don’t speak but share the understanding of where their next stop will be.   


The sun is low in the sky when they arrive at the pier. For a few minutes, they sit in the parked car, watching the beach clear out for the day. 

“So,” 2D starts. “That was pretty...intense. But your mum’s out there.”

“You don’t know that and neither does she,” Murdoc says, opening the bottle of vodka. “For all we know she could have been speaking in metaphorically.” He gets through a few long gulps before 2D clears his throat, indicating that he wants him to stop.

“Why don’t we get out?” he asks. 

Murdoc stares out the window at the ocean, once again overcome by an urge to run out to the beach and wade into the waves and forget. He could fall asleep in there and everything would go away. 

“We don’t have to take about any of that stuff, we can just walk around, look at the sky, maybe make a sandcastle…” 2D smirks. “You know you love sandcastles.”

It’s enough to pull Murdoc out of his thoughts. He brings a hand to his forehead in exasperation. “That was  _ one _ time. I only helped make that sandcastle because you and Noodle wouldn’t leave me alone.” 

“But you got really into it. Remember how you stomped on that other family’s sandcastle while they weren’t looking because you wanted ours to be the biggest?” 

“The one kid stole water from our moat. Retaliation was the only option.” 

2D laughs and gets out the car. “Whatever you say. But let’s go before it gets too dark.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s about time…” Murdoc mutters and follows him down one of the dunes. With every step, a new questions arises. He was in danger- what did his mother have to do with it? Was it something she had done unintentionally? Was it his father? Where did his father fit into all of this anyhow? 

He looks out at the ocean and the darkening sky above it. His mother chose to cross that ocean a little over 55 years ago, and that was how his life began. It must have been a long journey to go on alone. What happened to her? Where was she now? Did she know it was him when he was mentioned in the news? She never made it back to him. He wonders what went wrong. But there was time, maybe he could still make it to her, wherever she was. 

“Pretty sky,” 2D says.  They standing just outside the shadow of the pier, close to the water. “So...do you want to walk or sit? We could take selfies…” 

“That raven...” Murdoc says. “When he was drunk, me dad used to ramble on about a raven perched by my carriage when I was an infant. He go on about how it pecked at him when he tried to shoo it away, and that it pecked at the window for week on end afterwards. It was one of his ways of telling me what a burden I was on his life from the very moment we met. I wonder...” 

“Woah,” 2D says. “Do...you think it was the same one that you saw the other day? Or your mum?”   


Murdoc looks out towards the horizon line. Perhaps the old lady was right, his mother has been with him longer than he thought. “I don’t know…” He can’t wrap his head around it right now, he wants to rest, just for a little while. “But I don’t want to think about it any more, not right now.”

“Okay, then let’s try not to.” 2D says as he leans down to pull off his shoes and socks. “Whatever is or isn’t going to happen...it isn’t happening now. So let’s try and be happy for this view, the sand, the ocean, that crab over there...” 2D is struggling to roll up the cuffs of his jeans now. “We didn’t really dress right for this sort of thing, did we?”

Murdoc looks down at his own feet, noticing how awkward it feels to be standing on the beach in jeans and boots. When he thinks about it more, he decides that he wouldn’t mind sticking in his feet in the ocean. The crashing of the waves bring him the thinnest strand of peace; it isn’t much but it’s more than he’s had all day. “Whatever, it’s a minute obstacle considering everything else I’m up against.”

2D is already wandering around just out of reach of the waves by the time Murdoc gets his boots off, having found the pant rolling part just as difficult. But when he’s ready, he makes his way down to the just within the water’s reach and watches at it runs over his feet. It’s cold enough to make him shiver through 2D’s sweatshirt.

“If you stand in one place long enough, you start to sink into the ground,” 2D warns. 

Sure enough, a thin layer of sand has settled over his feet, and as another wave crashes, more sand comes with it. Still, Murdoc rolls his eyes. “You don’t sink, not completely. Russel told me it helps with exfoliation, not that I care.” He crouches down and runs his hands through the water as in washes in and then recedes. Then a particularly strong wave crashes in and soaks the bottom part of his pants and sweatshirt sleeves. He falls back into the damp sand with a dull thud. “Ugh.” 

2D laughs. 

“Oh yeah?” Murdoc grabs a handful of wet sand and hurls it at him. But it isn’t well aimed and only manages to hit part of 2D’s pant leg, which only makes him laugh harder. 

“You know,” 2D says between chuckles. “It’s funny how we always end up back here.”

“I’ve never been here in my life.”

“You know what I mean - by the water.” 2D walks over to where the pillar of the pier meets the dune and plops down in the sand. He looks out over the ocean and the sky. “I think we’ve had our best and worst times sitting just like I am right now.” 

Murdoc follows his gaze and mulls over his words. They make him more upset than he would have expected. All they do is make him realize how  he was during points of time that he’s referencing. He was nearly blackout drunk their entire time in Jamaica, and he was in the throes a complete mental breakdown on Plastic Beach. All of his memories are blurry and he doesn’t know if he wants to talk about them. He does, however, yearn for closeness which he knows 2D can provide. Against the reminder from his inner voice about how his last “close” experience had almost caused him to crash their rental car, he goes and sits down to the left of him. 

It stirs all sorts of feeling in him. He can’t remember a time he was this close to someone he cared about with such awareness. 

“We’ve crossed this ocean a couple times, haven’t we?” 2D continues. “But you’ve got me beat by one.” 

“Only if you count in utero…” Murdoc remarks, watching as the sky darkens completely and the stars become more pronounced. Was the sky always so clear? Or was it just him? “Hey, Stu,” he says. “You... said a lot earlier today.” Instinctively, he draws his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t know why. 2D was the one who had put himself out there, not him. “I...don’t think...I’ve ever mattered that much to anyone before.” 

“Well, it is alright with you?” 2D looks at him. “I know I tend to go on and on and it can be annoying.”

Murdoc stays quiet for a moment. “It meant more to me than...I don’t know. I don’t think I know how to…” But even though he can’t find the words, when he looks at 2D he feels everything he wants to say. Even with sky as dark as it is, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen him- his expression, his features, his smile - as clearly as he’s seeing him now.

2D’s eye widen momentarily, and it’s soon replaced by a warm smile. He leans closer to him, and Murdoc can tell he’s still nervous by the way his left hand which also happens to be the hand he’s leaning on, fidgets with the sand. “You don’t have to. I understand,” he says. After a brief moment of thinking, he brings his eyes up to meet his gaze. “Can...I kiss you?”

Murdoc can feel his heart speed up. But his nerves aren’t over the notion of kissing or sex, they’re there because as much as he knows how he wants to respond and what he wants to happen, he doesn’t know if his body will listen to him. He doesn’t want to freeze up again, he doesn’t want to fail. He just wants to be able to enjoy the affection and feel close to 2D, and that desire is is what propels him to  mask his reservations to the best of his ability and say, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

So 2D shifts his weight and suddenly the hand he was just leaning on is pulling Murdoc closer to him until their lips meet and they’re kissing. 

2D is soft in his approach, and he moves in a lazy yet passionate rhythm. It’s almost too soft, and Murdoc is on the verge of breaking away and telling him so when 2D tangles both his hands in his hair and presses against him. It’s so sudden Murdoc can’t stop himself from flinching and takes in a sharp breath through his nose. Just as he had feared, his memories are more vivid when he’s clear-headed.

But again he reminds himself that he doesn’t want to fail, and he deepens the kiss with a stubborn determination, because it’s not just his memories that are more vivid, it’s everything. He’s aware of the attentiveness of 2D’s hands as the they explore the curves of his face. When he runs his fingers along his jawline and brushes his heavy bangs out of his face, tucking some of the longer strands behind his ear, Murdoc lets out a small moan. 

So often he had observed those hands at work, usually on part of some disassembled keyboard in the studio, searching, feeling for the write wire or screw that he would need to do whatever it was 2D wanted to do to that particular keyboard on that day. And he and his hands would work with patience and and care until he did. Murdoc can feel those gentle, well-practiced hands applying the same skills as they touch him, responding to each and every one of his pleased sounds and eager movements. The hand by his ear lingers there, repeating the same movement of tucking his hair back and running his fingers through his hair. And this time, he takes care not to tug. The caresses, as mundane as they are, leave Murdoc electrified and he wonders if it’s possible to get drunk on touch alone. 

Hands that had touched him in the past were never this gentle. So many of his previous sexual experiences were a blur of things he couldn’t completely remember or bursts of short-lived passion where all he really wanted to do was get off or experiences he wished he could just forget. But everything about what they’re doing now is different.

_ See? You’re okay, _ he tells himself as he feels his shoulders start to tense defensively. They have no reason to and when he notices 2D’s movements pause he feels embarrassed.  _ You’re okay. This is okay. _ He tries to let 2D know everything is okay by continuing the kiss and allowing himself fall back in the sand, pulling 2D with him. 

He knows he’s probably dooming himself to weeks of picking sand out of his hair and clothes but when the kiss breaks and he looks up at 2D, the light from the stars encircling his face, he decides he doesn’t care. He smiles at him, reaching his own hand up and placing it on his cheek. “We really are doing this, huh?” he remarks. It was still difficult that any of this was real.

“I guess we are.” 2D smiles back, but Murdoc can see that the wheels are turning in his head about...something. “Comfy?”

Murdoc grins. “I’m enjoying my view.”

2D laughs quietly as he leans back down to kiss him again and Murdoc welcomes him  wholeheartedly. However, he’s getting more eager and pulls the singer closer to him, slipping a hand up his shirt. 

2D gasps as Murdoc brushes his nails gently along the small of his back and grinds into him. Murdoc smirks and hooks a leg around his waist, pulling him in closer. There wasn’t any alcohol stopping them now. Briefly, it crosses his mind that they had yet to really discuss how they wanted to fuck, but he throws that thought away as soon it registers. Murdoc Niccals didn’t plan. It would happen however it happened and he intended to enjoy every second of it. 

2D soon breaks their kissing and turns to placing kisses along his jaw and neck. With a pleased sigh, Murdoc turns his head to the side, giving him all the access he needs. Eventually 2D finds his way to his ear. But this time, instead of his fingers, he slowly runs his tongue along its shell.

And that’s when it all goes wrong. 

Murdoc can’t quite describe the sound that comes out of his mouth, but it’s somewhere between a whine and a sob, and he can’t stop himself from flinching  _ again _ as another intrusive flashback forces its way into his thoughts. Still, he hugs 2D close, desperate for him to stay. 

_ Stupid, _ he berates himself as his body tenses.  _ You ruined it. You ruined everything.  _

“What’s the matter?” he asks when 2D stops. If he pretends it didn’t happen hard enough, maybe 2D would go along with him.

“I think I should be asking you that,” 2D replied. “Are you okay? What did I do?” He sounds worried and a little bit hurt.

“Nothing!” Murdoc flashes him the most reassuring smile he can. “I think one of those crabs pinched me is all. But everything you were doing? I didn’t want that to end.” 

But 2D’s face tells him that sees right through him and Murdoc can tell that his reply only reinforces this. Despite this, 2D runs a final hand through his hair and places a chaste kiss on his forehead. Then he gets off of him and sits, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Stu…” Murdoc pushes himself up. “We don’t have to-”

“Yes we do,” 2D says. “You’re upset.”

His comment stings on multiple levels and he can feel his face flush with shame, anger and fear. “No,” he argues. “No I’m bloody not. I’m about to be, but I wasn’t before.”

“ _ Don’t _ lie to me,” 2D says with a force that surprises both of them. “...Please,” he adds. “Because right now I feel like shit.”

“Well that’s your own fault because there was nothing wrong...”

“You’re full of shit, Murdoc.” 2D sounds genuinely irritated now. “Nearly every time I touch you, you pull away or flinch…” He pauses. “It’s like...you’re afraid of me,” he says, voice smaller. 

“I’m not! I’m fucking  _ not.”  _ The words hit him hard and all he can think about now is how this would have never happened if 2D had just allowed them to fuck back at the hotel. “What the fuck do you want from me?” He demands. “I’m wasn’t good enough last night because you thought...I don’t know, that I was too easy, now I’m not good enough here because now I’m being too ‘difficult.’ Why the fuck did you say all of those things if I was never going to be good enough?”

2D is completely taken aback by his reaction. “What?” He asks. “What are you talking about? You mean so much to me, Muds, you are more than enough...but I want you to be comfortable with everything we do and I want you to be sober enough to agree to everything we do.” 

Inside, Murdoc knows he’s right. But he doesn’t want to know that because doing so would mean having to examine every time he blacked out alone at a pub, or woke up in a place with strangers he never remembered meeting, experiences that he had always used as funny party stories or examples of his sexual conquests. What had happened to him,  _ really _ ? What had he possibly done to others,  _ really _ ? The more right 2D was, the more wrong he became. He can’t examine any of it any further because if he did he might break down completely. 

“You just need to talk to me...Can you do that?” 2D asks. “Because…” he pauses, unsure if he really wants to say what he’s about to say. “Something bad happened. I know you don’t want to say it but…” he doesn’t finish his sentence but Murdoc understands what he’s getting at. “Was it him?” 

He means his father. Murdoc almost laughs in his face. 

“Can…can you tell me where he hurt you? Then I can know. Then we both won’t have to worry...”

How could 2D expect him to answer that? How could he even bring himself to answer that when the answer was  _ everywhere _ and when it wasn’t just his father but more people than he could count. If his little flinches were enough to make 2D this worried then telling him the truth would probably scare him away from ever touching him again. His throat tightens at the thought. He can’t lose that. 

“Oh fuck off,” he says. “Why isn’t what I say enough, huh? Why can’t you trust  _ me?  _ Because you sure as hell won’t shut up about how much I need to trust  _ you _ .”

“It’s not that,” 2D sounds exasperated now. “I just don’t want you to force yourself to-” 

The last sentence sets something off in him. “I would  _ never  _ let that happen! I  _ know _ what that feels like, Stu.” His stomach turns and he can feel himself starting to sweat badly. “It’s  _ not _ happening again. I would  _ never  _ let happen agai-”

He stops mid-sentence. He knows he’s going to throw up. Frantic, he staggers to his feet and tries to run further under the pier, somewhere where he can’t be seen. He barely gets another few feet before he stumbles and ends up on all fours in the sand, hands grasping at handfuls of it as he tries to breathe. But it doesn’t work so well this time. No matter how hard he tries, he can never get enough air, and the resulting panic only makes his stomach feel worse. Then he’s retching.

_ I’m dying,  _ he thinks as his body strains and his eyes water.  _ I’m in hell. _

But it isn’t, it couldn’t be because 2D is next to him. 

“It’s okay, Muds,” he reassures him as he rubs his back. “It’s okay, you’re safe.”

But it isn’t. He never wanted it to come out this way, he never wanted to talk about it at all if he was being honest. Now he had no choice because 2D couldn’t just listen to him. He can’t decide if he hates himself or 2D more. “Don’t touch me!” he snaps as he pulls away from the hand on his back. But he’s too shaky and he doesn’t trust himself to get up without falling again, so instead he crawls and makes it a couple of feet away.

“I’m sorry,” 2D says. “Just, uh, know I’m here and that it wasn’t your fau-”

“Shut up!” Murdoc’s voice cracks as he yells. “What the fuck do you know? You had NO bloody right.” His heart is still racing as he tries to keep his mind from taking him back. “Why couldn’t you have just trusted me?”

“I’m here aren’t I?” 2D sounds exasperated now. “On this trip with you, helping you. You don’t think that’s enough to prove that I trust you? I’m trying to make sure you’re okay...”

Murdoc freezes.  _ How dare he. _ “Well I’m not! And it’s all your fucking fault! You don’t get to fucking turn this around on me like that.” He says, his tone icy. “I didn’t ask you to be here, I didn’t trick you into being here, I didn’t fucking do anything this time around,  _ you _ did.”

“I didn’t mean-”

But he isn’t finished yet. He’s far from finished. “Don’t forget about all the fun you had leaving me behind not so long ago. If anything, you should be over the moon that I’m even  _ attempting _ to trust  _ you _ , you ungrateful  _ prick _ !” It wasn’t so often that they mentioned their sixth album. It was a source of tension and unresolved anger for him, so much so that the rest of the band had eventually learned to stop bringing it up around him or even involving themselves in any projects related to it after his initial outbursts that took place in the first few months following his release from prison. Eventually, he settled down and denied that it had been “that bad,” even though it had been. And he held onto it, knowing that there would eventually come a time where he would throw it back at one or all of them. He sensed that now - that familiar need to make 2D feel just as terrible as he does. 

“Hold on,” 2D contends, much to his surprise. “That isn’t fair. We spent FIFTEEN YEARS waiting for you to show that you gave a shit and every time, you brushed us off. So finally there comes a time where you’re out of the picture we decide to take a break from you  _ for once _ you act like it’s the end of the world.”

Murdoc is shaking from how angry he is. “Are you trying to convince me that you give a fuck? Because you’re failing miserably like the selfish, empty-headed idiot that you like to pretend you aren’t, but I know you are.” 

“That’s...not what I meant.” The exasperation in 2D’s voice is still there but it’s quickly being overtaken by desperation. “I’m...just trying to help you understand our perspective. We took a break, we never wanted to leave you forever. It’s...like we said back then, it’s in the past now and we don’t have to talk about it ever again.” 

“Oh but I want to now _ , _ ” he spits back, tone mocking. “You want me to tell you all the fucked up shit that’s happened to me so I can cry on your shoulder don’t you? So you can say it ‘wasn’t my fault’ well, that’s not the tune you were singing while I was banged up.” He’s breathing heavily now, surprised that he isn’t panicking again. “You want to know want to know what it feels like to have someone pin you down and-” There it was - another wave of nausea. He thought too soon and he can’t finish that sentence without feeling lightheaded. “...Do want all the gorey details?” He continues. “Oh, and after that we can talk about my fun trip to the psych ward.” He’s cornering 2D into a hole he can’t argue his way out of without saying something that will give him even more ammunition to castigate him further. 

As he expects, 2D looks both stunned and horrified. “I...I didn’t know. If you had told me I would have tried to help I-”

“You weren’t answering your bloody phone!” Murdoc yells. “Was I just supposed to broadcast it out to the public? Tweet about it? Maybe give a Ted Talk? But I’m glad you enjoyed that break of yours.” 

2D doesn’t say anything back. Murdoc watches as his face falls and he looks away, silent. Then his face scrunches up and he sobs. And sobs. And sobs. And it doesn’t stop. 

Murdoc watches him awkwardly, unsure of what to say. He had counter arguments and jabs to push him farther but watching 2D go from mildly irritated to falling apart in front of him doesn’t give him the victorious feeling he was expecting. 

“I’m s-sorry,” 2D stammers, breath hitching. “I’m sorry...I’m so sorry...It’s all my fault.” Eventually, the sobs overtake him and he sits there, sniffling and crying and showing no signs of stopping.

Murdoc lasts only a few extra seconds before he can’t stand it anymore. He stumbles to his feet and walks barefoot back to the car. He doesn’t feel sick anymore like he’s going to throw up. It’s a different kind of sick feeling and he just wants it to go away. 

His recently purchased alcohol stash is in the backseat so he sit back there rather than in either of the front seats. He doesn’t want to think or feel anymore. An entire day of that was too long for him and all it had done was remind him of how hopeless and lost he really was.

He’s sprawled out on the back seat, exhausted and bleary-eyed when the door opens. 2D looks down at him. His face is red and puffy from crying and Murdoc wonders how much time has passed. He doesn’t argue with him and he doesn’t try to pull the bottle out of his hand. Instead, he only leans over him to grab the car keys sitting on the seat beside him. Then he shuts the door and gets into the driver’s seat.

The engine starts and the car starts to move. Unprepared for 2D driving into a particularly big pothole, Murdoc spills his vodka all over himself and the backseat. However he’s too drunk to really care at this point and instead turns his head lazily to lap at where the some of the spilled alcohol has pooled in the crease of the seat. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of 2D watching him through the rearview mirror, examining him in a way that he imagines would make Russel proud. 

“Saṃsāra,” Murdoc says with a hiccup. “Everything’s a circle.” 

2D’s eyes linger on him for a few more seconds. Then he’s focused on the road. Murdoc doesn’t ask where they’re going and drinks for the rest of the ride. Once they’re parked, he doesn’t protest when 2D pulls him ungracefully out of the back seat to wherever he’s planned for them to go next. 

He loses track of his steps but he assumes they’re in another hotel room. 2D sits him on a bed and he falls over on it, rolling over on his stomach and burying his head in the pillow. He hopes he’s had enough to drink to grant him a peaceful sleep. 

2D shuffles around the room, presumably changing his clothes, brushing his teeth, doing all of his normal before bed tasks. “Is this trusting enough for you yet?” he asks into the pillow, not even sure if 2D will hear him. 

The shuffling stops. “I’m sorry, Murdoc.” It’s the most broken he’s ever heard 2D sound in years. “I...wish I knew the right thing to do or say...but I don’t, okay? I don’t. I’m just...so sorry.” He’s silent after that, then eventually Murdoc hears a door shut and the sound of water being turned on. 

The apology doesn’t make Murdoc feel any better. He doesn’t know what it makes him feel exactly but he knows he’s drunk enough to be at risk of crying. All 2D would have to do is hug him and it would probably happen. He hopes it doesn’t and hugs the pillow tighter and tighter, trying to go to sleep.

* * *

 

When he opens his eyes again, he reads 12pm on the digital clock on his nightstand, and he has a massive headache. Really, everything aches - his back, his neck, his shoulders - and he’s itchy from all the sand in his clothes. 

2D is asleep next to him, or at least he thinks 2D is asleep next to him. It looks like a lump under the comforter next to him - apparently 2D had rented them a room with one bed, too, Murdoc notices. But it wasn’t normal for Murdoc to be awake before him. The last time that had happened 2D stayed in bed all day and he wonders if this is another one those bad days. 

To test it out, he sits up and rustles the lump. “Hey, 2D, you in there?”

“Please leave me alone,” comes the faint reply. 

So it was a bad day. Murdoc takes a moment to try and process this knowledge, and notices the smallest pang of guilt. How much of this was because of him? “Fine,”  he grumble, and gets up. At the very least he could finally change out of that sweatshirt. 

He gets ready - drinking a few beers, eating breakfast, brushing his teeth, even “showering” (it’s only a quick rinse, he doesn’t like to stay in there too long) - though he isn’t sure what exactly he’s going to do all day. He settles back into an outfit he’s comfortable wearing, opting for one of his gray shirts and jeans, and he finds his boots that he left on the beach yesterday sitting by the door. Slipping them on, he takes another look back at the bed. “I’ll, uh,  be back later,” he says, unsure of how much it matters or if 2D even cares, but he figures it’s worth saying. 

The rest of the day is spent wandering, but this time it’s more deliberate. He needs to think. It had been twenty four hours since they began their “relationship,” if that’s what they were going to call it, and it was already a bigger complication than he could have ever anticipated. He’s afraid, not of 2D but of what he was coming to represent - disclosure, vulnerability. His episode on the beach had been everything he ever feared and avoided. In the immediate aftermath all he could feel was anger, anger that he had directed at 2D. 

There are certain experiences he’s never shared, not in detail and certainly not to a point to where he ever verbalized how they were still affecting him. He’d never really had to. But now, he realizes, his avoidance of them is interfering with his happiness and his ability to communicate. He frustrations with 2D were his own doing. How could he expect the singer to ever understand him if he didn’t tell him anything? 

But when the only way for 2D to understand him required such painful and terrifying levels of self-disclosure how was he supposed to manage? 

Still, those experiences, just like the story of his mother, make up who he is. As he walks past various families and couples on vacation, laughing together, he frowns. He doesn’t think it’s fair. It isn’t fair they get to have those memories while he’s stuck with his. It isn’t fair that his only chance at possibly experiencing something real requires him to tear down everything he’s put in place to keep himself safe. It’s that frustration that fuels so much of his temper, his addictions and his hiding. 

_ You’re scared, _ he practices thinking to himself as he walks through the quaint beach town of wherever they were.  _ You’re scared,  _ he tries it again an hour later when he’s sitting on a bench in some park.  _ You’re so scared you’re going to shit yourself when you get back to the room _ , he thinks for a third time as he leaves a coffee shop later that afternoon, a bag of pastries in his hand. 

_ Don’t be afraid of yourself,  _ the old woman’s voice echoes in his head. But how could he not when it felt like there was so much wrong him?

There’s a raven hopping around the parking lot of the hotel when he returns that evening, pecking at the carcass of a dead squirrel that must have been roadkill from earlier that day. It stops its pecking to stare at Murdoc as he walks past.  _ Don’t be afraid of yourself _ . 

But which animal was he supposed to be in this situation, the raven or the squirrel?

“Oh, don’t bother,” he sneers at it. “I came back didn’t I?” Still, he’s wary as he passes it, hoping silently that it doesn’t start talking to him. Thankfully, all it does is stare and he turn his back on it as he walks to the lobby. When he glances behind him seconds later, both the animals are gone. 

The blinds are drawn and the room is dark. 2D is still in his same spot, but this time he has his head poked out from under the covers, staring at the ceiling.

Murdoc stands in the doorway, already feeling awkward and uneasy, but he takes a deep breath and walks into the room anyways. It wasn’t fair, but nothing he had done before had ever brought him any sort of long lasting peace or happiness. If he was truly going to help himself, like he had told 2D at the beginning of their trip, he would have to try something different, something like talking...just this once.

He sits down on the corner of the bed and sets the bag of pastries down beside him. “Er, hey,” he says. “I picked up some snacks. To eat.” 

2D glances at the bag and sighs. He rolls over on his side, but otherwise makes no move towards Murdoc’s offering. 

“Okay..well, I’ll just be sitting here then.” And he does. He doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t know what 2D needs. He doesn’t want to apologize because despite all he had thought about, he’s still hurt by what he said about taking a break from him and for being left behind. And he’s mad that all their problems get blamed on him regardless of how close to the truth that may be or how irrational he knows his thinking is. It isn’t fair. 

After minutes, but what feels like hours, he can’t wait any longer. “So, is all this moping because of me? Is that what the point of this is?”

At first, 2D doesn’t say anything. Then he sighs again and says, “This sort of...happens sometimes. Different things will set it off not just you...”

“But this time it’s me.”

“It not always about you...but yes and no.” 2D pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I guess...it’s this feeling that I’m failing.” 

“Failing at what?”

“...All of this, us.” 2D reaches for the bag at a glacial pace and pulls out a chocolate croissant. It isn’t much, but Murdoc finds it reassuring. “I had this idea...that I’d swoop in and be really badass and bring everyone back together, bring  _ us _ together...but I feel like all I’ve been doing lately is ruining everything. And...after what you said last night...” He pauses, taking a bite of the croissant. His face is pensive as he chews. “I feel like scum.”

Murdoc can feel his anxiety spiking as he can see two paths flash in his mind. He could end everything right here if he wanted, live out the rest of his years unhappy, but at least it would be something he knew. Or, he could take the chance to achieve a new sort of emotional freedom he’s never known, one that didn’t involve alcohol or drugs or pushing people away. 

_ I have to help me. _

His hands are shaking in his lap and he hopes 2D doesn’t notice. “You’re not scum.” He looks over to 2D and sees that he’s stopped mid-chew. Already, he feels self-conscious. This sort of conversation is alien to both of them. “You were right. You didn’t know...not everything.” He inhales. “I’ve been shit at telling you things, but that’s only because you’ve been shit at understanding…” Then he adds, “Then again I haven’t given you much of a chance to…”

“I’m not a mind reader,” 2D remarks sadly. “That would be pretty neat if I was, but I’m not. Maybe I could have been more useful.”

“No,” Murdoc shakes his head. “What I said last night...was...” He can’t believe he’s about to say it. “...wrong. That situation that was fucked up all around for all of us.”

“Yeah,” 2D says. “But it must have been hell. I never really thought about how it must have felt for you.”

“Yeah,” Murdoc says back. He averts his eyes and tries to maintain his composure. “But it wasn’t your fault. I was angry and I exploded - I’m...always angry if you haven’t noticed.” He stalls, unsure if he can find the words. “But I thought about it while I was wandering around today and...I realized it isn’t just anger. More than anything else I’m...” His hands are shaking harder now. “...scared.”

“I didn’t meant to trigger that…”

“It isn’t you. It’s what you noticed.”

“I thought stopping was the right thing to do. You looked terrified. I thought I had hurt you.” 2D picks at the croissant in his hand. “But I was wrong and it went all wrong. That’s why I feel so hopeless. Everything I think is right, is wrong.”

“No, Stu,” Murdoc says. “What you think is right  _ is _ right. It’s just that...no one’s ever checked in with me…” he stops there. “I...don’t mean to fidget like that, and it isn’t because of you.”  He doesn’t dare look at 2D now. “...It’s because of me,” he says, voice unusually quiet.

The room is silent save for 2D’s chewing. Murdoc doesn’t know how he can still eat in the middle of a conversation like the one they’re sharing now. “So when I said we should stop, you felt like you were the one who messed up.” 2D assesses. “Is that it?”

_ Yes.  _ “I...I don’t know. I guess.”

2D is silent. Then he says, “I didn’t think you ruined anything. When bad things happen to us, our bodies remember and they try to protect us. When it’s really bad they may try to protect use even when we know we aren’t in danger. My therapist said something about that. Your body was just trying to protect you.”

Murdoc grips the side of the bed. It’s taking all the resilience he has to not go into another panic. “I hate it,” he says. “I  _ liked _ what you were doing on the beach last night, 2D, and I meant it when I said I didn’t want it to end. I actually  _ felt _ this time, I felt everything, and it made a hell of a lot more sense than it has with anyone else.”

“It was like that for me too,” 2D says quietly. “I didn’t want to stop.”

“And you didn’t have to! I tried telling you that…” Murdoc says. “If me speaking isn’t going to work then what the fuck can I do to convince you I’m alright when this inevitably happens again?”

“What we’re doing right now is helpful,” 2D says. “So...thank you, Muds, really. I know this is hard. I’ll try to listen to you more...but some of it will take time since we still have a lot to learn about each other, you know like what we like and don’t like and all that. Is..there anything I can do to make you feel safer when it happens?”

“You could let me get shitfaced,” Murdoc says, chuckling darkly as 2D shoots him a disapproving look. 

“I’m serious,” 2D says.

“And I am too,” Murdoc says back, narrowing his eyes. “I’m not flinching to be an arse or a cocktease or to fuck with you.” He’s going to need to run to the bathroom at any moment, he knows it. “The only way it ever goes away is when I’m completely smashed. But then I end up too smashed and I can’t remember when I wake up…” He’s speaking tangentially now, but he can’t stop himself. “It isn’t fun, but in the moment, it helps me feel like a normal person, just for a bit...but the morning after I always end up feeling worse...and so bloody angry.” 

The words hang in the air. Murdoc feels like he just unburdened himself of years of tension, and it drop like an anvil on the entire room. No doubt it would leave some cracks in the floor, it was only a question of where. That was the scary part. “I do need it, Stu. I need the alcohol. I get jittery and sick without it if I go too long. It’s not something where I can just go cold turkey.”

Slowly, 2D sits up. “I know,” he replies. “I never meant it to come across like I was demanding you to never drink again. I just don’t want you to be falling over or about to pass out when we’re together because I end up worrying about you and I can’t ever tell what you really want. I don’t like that.” 

Murdoc mulls over his response. They had spent so much time talking about his comfort levels that he had never stopped to consider 2D’s. “Right…”

“And really, it would be helpful to know if there’s anything I can do to help calm you, or any area I should avoid next time we’re getting close…”

Murdoc inhales and exhales.  _ I can do this,  _ he thinks.  _ I can help myself. I’m not afraid of myself.  _ “What  have to understand that I’m not going to be fit perfectly into whatever role you have me playing in your daydreams. I’m usually high or shitfaced when I shag. You take away the drugs and the alcohol and...you get the disaster that I was last night.” It pains him to to admit that he’s that damaged out loud. “But...if you want to help...maybe remind me that it’s you. You don’t have to stop, just say something like, ‘hey, Murdoc, it’s just me,’ and I’ll get it.”

2D smiles. “I can do that. As long as you’re honest with me and tell me if we need to slow down or stop.”

“I will, 2D. Jeez.” Murdoc rolls his eyes. “I…” He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “I trust you, okay? I trust you...a lot. I think that’s another part of the reason why I’m scared shitless...trusting isn’t exactly a walk in the park for me. But I know you would never hurt me in my head, even if the rest of me doesn’t.”

“But now we both understand it, we’re both on the, uh, same wavelength.” 2D inches closer to him. “So now, when I want to do something, I’ll ask you first. Like this -” He shifts so that they’re nearly side by side. “Can I hug you?”

Murdoc still feels stupid being treated this way, but it was either that or go back to jumping away and freezing up, and he’s tired of that. “...Sure,” he says. He isn’t sure how realistic a solution it is for the long-term, but it’s a start.

And this time, when 2D’s arms wrap around him, save for the first few moments where his shoulders tense, he relaxes. As 2D rests his head on his shoulder, he has to fight back tears of relief. Eventually, he embraces him back, burying his head in the crook of his neck and clinging to him tightly, appreciating every second. 

_ You’re okay, _ he tells himself again as he listens to his own breathing and lingers on the feel of 2D’s hands on his back.  _ The fight was hell, the memories were hell, talking about it all was hell, but you survived. You’re alive and loved. You’re okay.  _

They stay that way for several minutes before they separate and Murdoc goes to stand up. He still feels shaky but there’s something he wants to do. 

He walks over to where the wind chimes are sitting on the dresser and picks one up. Carefully, he slips it off of the string and holds it in his hand, again running his thumb over the raven imprint carved into the rectangular piece of metal. Then he takes his own necklace off and unhooks it and threads the chain through the opening in chime. When it falls into place, it lies just behind the upside-down cross. 

Murdoc stares at himself in the mirror for a moment as he gets used to his new appearance. He still isn’t sure if he was meant to be the raven or the squirrel, but he want to give being the raven a try.

When he feels ready, he turns to 2D. “Tada,” he says. 

The singer responds with a smile. “Now she can be with you wherever you go.”

“Yeah,” Murdoc says “I...think I’m okay now.” Then he stops himself. “I mean...if want to get into specifics, I’m not okay. That chat we just had nearly made me puke again and I’m completely knackered, but...I’m here.” He grabs another beer from the open crate on the floor and sits back down on the bed next to 2D.

2D motions to the back of pastries. “There’s still the other half of the croissant in the bag if you want.” 

“I’ll pass.” His stomach is still restless. “So,” He asks as he cracks open the can. “...Am I fucked up enough for you yet?” 

“Putting the egg in the microwave was fucked up. Calling in a fake bomb threat so a SWAT team would raid my room while I was sleeping like you did that one time is fucked up.”

“Still can’t let that go, huh?”

“But this?” 2D continues. “This makes sense, and it was needed...for both of us. I think you were right to say I got carried away in my own daydreams of what I thought this would be like. I forgot about how little I really knew about what you’ve gone through and it ended with both of us confused. But...it means a lot to me that you talked with me about this.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Murdoc says. 

“And you don’t have to tell me...not right now at least...unless you want to. Or no, actually...” 2D pauses, rethinking his original statement. “I do want you to tell me if it would help me make things...um, less stressful for you. Don’t feel like you have to bottle anything up, I would never judge you or think less of you for the fucked up things that other people did.”

Murdoc takes another gulp of beer. “I know, I’ve always known but it’s something I’m shit at doing.” He sighs. “I’m going to keep trying just...be patient with me” 

“Of course,” 2D says. “And I’d ask the same of you - to be patient. I’m...not perfect, I’m bad with words and I get frustrated with you sometimes.”

“I get frustrated with me all the time.” Murdoc chuckles darkly. 

“...And I’m going to try to keep that in mind the next time I think you’re being a wanker.”

“Whatever.”  Murdoc smirks and toys with his necklace. “So, are you still moping or do you want to go out for a  real meal? I’m a bit talked out for today.” Then he adds. “Just the two of us.”

Slowly, he can see 2D’s face start to brighten. “...Yeah. That would be nice but...I’m not sure I’m up for it tonight.” He yawns. “I still don’t feel quite like myself.”

It isn’t the answer he wants but he understands. “Yeah, alright,” he says. “I’m not opposed to a night in.”

2D looks relieved and lies back down on the bed. “I have the Ubereats app on my phone.”

“While you were vegetating, I had nothing better to do than scope out every storefront within a two mile radius. I could bloody well be the Ubereats app at this point.”

“Oh really?” 2D laughs. “Pick the one that was most interesting to you then, or no, pick the one with the best vegetarian options.”

Murdoc leans back so that he’s lying next to him and sets his beer on the nightstand. He motions for 2D’s phone. “You’re just going to have to be surprised.” 

“I’d be okay with that,” 2D says as he hands him his phone. “Because I trust you, too.” He turns on his side so that he’s facing Murdoc as he types.

“There.” Murdoc tosses the phone back to him and turns to face him too. “All done. Now all we do is lay here until it comes.”

“ _ If I lay here, _ ” 2D sings. “ _ If I just lay here…would you lie with me and just forget the world?” _

Amidst his spiraling life, there were some things that never changed. 2D’s singing was apparently going to be one of them. “Christ,” he snorts. “You don’t ever run out of songs do you?” 

“I’ll never run out of them as long as they keep making you laugh.”

_ Well that was corny _ . Murdoc almost makes a jab at him about it but decides against it. “Lucky me.” It comes out sarcastic but really, he means it. He’s starting to cherish those little interludes.

“Do you, uh, want to go back to the beach tomorrow?” 2D asks. “You know, like as a do-over?”

It sounds nice, but lingering one place for too long seems dangerous considering he still doesn’t know what’s after him or why. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Besides, knowing my luck there’s probably some evil water demon my mum accidentally summoned waiting there to drag me into the ocean.” He’s half serious when he says this.

“Nah, I don’t think so. She may have made some mistakes, but she knew better than to put you in danger.” 2D turns his attention to his necklace and reaches for it. “It looks nice...like it belongs there.”

Murdoc watches as the singer runs his thumb over the charm. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It feels like it does.” 

“I think we’ll find her,” 2D says. “Not today and maybe not tomorrow, but eventually. Maybe that person in New Orleans the old lady told us about will know something.”

“Maybe,” Murdoc says. It feels like they’re getting closer. Closer to something. He still can’t tell if it’s good or bad, but he’s going to try to trust himself and he’s going to try to speak about himself, his experiences and his feelings. So 2D could know him... _ really  _ know him.Because 2D was beginning to mean more to him than he ever thought he would. And because he meant something to 2D, even if he still can’t understand why.

2D smiles and holds up his fist. “Woohoo!”

This time, Murdoc bumps it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's chapter 11! It's the longest chapter yet! As you can see I've written The Now Now into this (2D already has the journal anyways haha) because this fic takes place in 2021 so technically, it's happened at this point. If anyone's confused about the fight, answer on the Murdoc bot suggest that he's been experiencing even *more* trauma in prison (and "incident in the showers" =/) which I can provide more info on if need be. 
> 
> Special shout out to niccalsnichols on Tumblr who shared some fanart and waterpeach on ao3 who left a nice fanmix in the comments!
> 
> And as always, comments and concerns are greatly appreciated and help keep me going. Thank you so much to everyone who's shared their thoughts and thank you all for your patience with me and my writing schedule!


	12. Chapter 12

_It’s three am and Murdoc, at the age of ten, is beginning to learn that sleeping at night is dangerous._

_“Muuurdoooc…” He hears his father slurring from outside the door. “Muuurdoooc…”_

_Then silence._

_It’s a long silence, long enough that Murdoc dares to consider relaxing. Then he hears it. Scraping. Long, shrill scraping of what could only be his father’s hook against the door. Far too frightened to move, Murdoc pulls his torn comforter around him tighter._

_“Muuuudooooc,” his father says again. “Let me in.”_

_He wishes his blanket was magic; that somehow, if he pulled tightly enough it would make him invisible. Deep down he knows it’s no use. His life wasn’t one to afford him escape in imagination. He’d often hear at school swapping stories about nightmares and monsters, and how much safer they feel once they’re under the covers. They felt safe in bed. Murdoc didn’t. He knows that covers are useless against real monsters._

_The scratching is becoming more persistent. “Open the door!” His father demands._

_Murdoc plans to do no such thing. He knows his father can come in if he wants to - he’s never been allowed a lock on his door. His only hope is that his father is too drunk to open the door himself and will be stuck in the hall until he passes out. Then Murdoc could leave and run away...to somewhere, anywhere._

_But none of this would have happened if he had only stayed awake. If he had done that, he would have seen how much his father was drinking and he would have been able to plan ahead. They lived in a row-home so going to his windowless room meant that he was surrendering himself to an entire night in his house with no escape route but his bedroom door. With his father outside of said door, he was trapped._

_That very door creaks and shakes under the weight of his father’s fist as he bangs on it, giving Murdoc a nice idea of just how angry he is. He buries his head under the cover and waits. And hopes. It’s not long until he hears the door slamming against the wall, open. He braces himself._

_When the blow that he’s expecting doesn’t come, he starts to realize that his father isn’t targeting him this time. Or at least, he isn’t targeting him first, which Murdoc is grateful for - perhaps there was still a chance to slip out the door without his seeing. But the loud thud of something heavy crashing on his bedroom floor suggests that maybe he shouldn’t even try that._

_Curious, Murdoc works up the courage to peer out from his protective shield of blankets. He’s greeted by the sight of his bookshelf overturned and the few toys that he had sitting on it - a model airplane set, some stuffed animals, some board games that he never played - scattered on the floor. Some of them had been sent to him in the mail from his grandmother who his father never took them to see, others he isn’t so sure._

_He isn’t particularly attached to any of them but watching his father systematically destroy each toy leaves him with an angry and helpless feeling - he stomps on the model airplane, he tears the board of the board games in half, and he pulls the stuffing out of the stuffed animals. His eyes begin to tear up as he watches silently. They were HIS belongings; some of the only belongings he had. It hurts but Murdoc knows it’s better the toys suffer through his father’s drunken rage than him. So he stays quiet._

_“Where is it?” He father yells. Apparently, breaking his toys wasn’t enough. “Huh? Where?!”_

_Murdoc feels a hand grab his shoulder through the covers. It drags him and his entire protective covering out of bed and onto the floor. He yelps when he lands on one of the broken pieces of the plane._

_“You think you’re so smart…” his father sneers over him while Murdoc stares fearfully at his feet, fully anticipating a kick. “Think you can pull one over on me?”_

_“I…I...” Murdoc has no idea what he’s talking about and no idea what to say. Again, he pulls the covers around himself. He knows they won’t protect him but he’s still young enough to dream._

_His father kicks some broken pieces of toys at him. “Yeah...well we’ll see about that you sneaky little shit. We’ll see. Now clean this mess up. I want this room clean by the morning.”_

_Murdoc nods timidly and watches as his father turns to leave. But it isn’t so easy._

_“I said now!” His father abruptly turns around and yells at him. The he throws the bottle of beer he’s been carrying around on the floor and it shatters just inches away from him with a harsh clang._

And Murdoc jumps.

“What is it?” 2D asks.

It’s late morning and they’re still in bed. 2D is curled up beside him as he stares at the ceiling. The traces of sun seeping through the curtains indicate that it’s morning, but he doesn’t feel any more rested than he did that night before. Looking down, he sees that he’s wearing one of his loose-fitting sleeping shirts, so he must have slept. He has no other way to explain the passage of time.

“Thought I heard something,” he says. “Like someone just chucked a glass bottle at the wall.”

“Hmm.” 2D thinks for a moment. “Are you sure about that? It’s been really quiet all morning.”

His response isn’t very convincing so Murdoc surveys the room. His rational side assures him that the sound was no more than a figment of his already overactive and unreliable mind. At the same time it had felt and sounded so real, as if it was happening right next to him. But there’s nothing there. _Well what were you expecting to find?_ He wonders to himself. He doesn’t know.

“What’s going on in there?” 2D makes a playful poke at his head.

“...Nothing,” he says, eyes darting to the far corner of the room to double check.

“No you’re not,” 2D says. “I can see it on your face.”

Of course he can. “It’s just that it’s a lot of...stuff,” he finally concedes. “I think I’m going mental is all, nothing new.”

“Well we know that isn’t true,” 2D says. “The old lady said so yesterday - all the weird things you’re seeing are real.”  
  
“And I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.”

“It’s better, I think.” 2D snuggles closer to him. “Because now we know a bit more about what’s going on, we don’t need to question if it’s real or not, we just have to figure out where it’s coming from. But whatever it is...” He nuzzles the crook of his neck affectionately. “It’s not here now. So try to relax.” From his awkward angle, he plants a kiss that lands between Murdoc’s cheek and the corner of his mouth. He lingers there, expectant.

Despite his wariness, Murdoc turns his head towards him, trying desperately to focus on feeling of his tongue in his mouth and the warmth of his breath rather than his growing fear.

2D’s stubble, though scratchy against his face is strangely intimate. Waking up was a mundane part of both of their days but not something either of them had ever shared together. Being so close to 2D before he shaved was a prime example. What he did before leaving his room had always been an unknown Murdoc accepted and never given much thought to. It wasn’t something he had ever expected to be a part of, but as 2D kisses him, it feels so familiar despite being so new, as if they had been waking up this way together for decades.

“It’s me,” 2D reassures between kisses as he slips a hand up his shirt causing his breath to hitch. “It’s just me. 2D.”

Murdoc relaxes into the touch, running his hand through the others soft, blue hair.

And then he hears it again, heavy footsteps like the ones he heard in his mother’s abandoned home. It’s accompanied by a sudden stabbing pain in his neck. Wincing, he pulls away and looks in the direction of the sound.

“What?” 2D reacts to his tensing immediately.

“You didn’t hear that?” His mind and body are on the same page for once, and they’re both screaming at him to run.

“No...”

Still, there’s nothing there. And after a few moments of silent listening, Murdoc realizes there’s not much to hear either. Why did his head always do such idiotic things? “Must be imagining things…” He says. It didn’t explain the neck pain, but he had noticed similar pains in Stoke and they had gone away on their own.

2D takes his own look around the room. “If something was there, I think we would have seen it by now...” He turns his attention back to Murdoc. “Are you, uh, alright to...?”

Murdoc takes one final glance to his left. “Yeah, yeah. I’m...just ignore me. It’s the paranoia.”

“I’d never ignore you.”

“You know what I mean.” Murdoc rolls his eyes and pulls him back into a kiss.

2D’s body is warm on his and his touches are soft and considerate. They're also, as Murdoc is beginning to notice, becoming more distinctly 2D. While he still has to remind himself that it’s 2D who’s there with him and not a stranger or someone who he’d rather not remember, he’s beginning to notice that his internal monologue is not as frantic as it once was.

2D’s fingers brush across his chest, trailing down to the waistband of his underwear where they hover. “Is this okay?” he murmurs against his lips.

“Okay?” Murdoc says, voice breathy. “This is what I wanted to do last night.”

2D smiles and leans down to kiss him again. Gingerly, he allows his hand trail even further down Murdoc’s stomach until it’s resting between his legs. Then he begins to rub. Murdoc arches into the touch eagerly, moaning into the others mouth. In that moment, 2D was everything - everything he felt, smelled, tasted. His alarm system was there, but it felt distant. Was this it? Was this what ‘getting better’ felt like?

The he hears it again. Footsteps. Heavy, shuffling footsteps. Abruptly, he turns his head in the direction of the sound quickly. That’s when he sees it. The shadow is tall, almost tall enough to reach the ceiling, shaped like a hooded figure. It’s there for less than a second and then it’s gone. Eyes wide, he stares at the empty space, completely frozen.

“What is it now?” 2D asks, the tiniest bit of irritation in his voice.

Murdoc untangles himself from under him and moves to get out of the bed. “We have to go.” 'Getting better' would have to wait.

“But why?” 2D protests as Murdoc pulls his clothes on. “We looked. There isn’t anything there...we haven’t ordered room service yet. Is it something I did?”

Nothing he says dissuades Murdoc from his packing. “You know how it goes in horror movies where the two characters who are dating or who fancy each other split off from the rest of the group to shag only to be gruesomely murdered by the serial killer or monster or demonic spirit because they’re too busy fucking to notice them?”

2D mulls over the comparison for a moment and smiles. “So we _are_ dating.”

“No,” Murdoc replies, frantic as he shoves his belongings into his bags. Then he realizes what he’s said. “I mean...yes,” he says, correcting himself. “You’re missing the point!”

“So...what is the point?” 2D asks.

“The point is that I just saw something that I can’t explain in this fucking room!” He stops to catch his breath and glance over his shoulder.  “We can be a couple but we don’t want to be _that_ couple. It’s not safe to be here much longer...not for me at least.”

Finally, his genuine fear gets across and 2D nods in understanding. “I’ll..uh, get my things,” he says.

They’re checked out of their room and in the car before the hour.

2D sighs again when Murdoc cracks a can of beer open.

“I told you...I need this,” Murdoc says. “What do they call them? An eye-opener.” And he drinks.

“Then you should eat, too.” 2D holds a muffin his face. “...These muffins are quite good, actually.”

Murdoc shifts the gear into drive. “Just leave it on the dashboard. I’d say we have bigger things to worry about than my breakfast.”

Once 2D plugs the direction into his phone they’re on their way. Murdoc can feel his shoulders physically becoming less tense as they pull onto the highway and he’s able to speed up. For now, all he has to focus on is driving - another eleven hours of it if their directions are accurate. Driving and forgetting that he ever saw anything in their hotel room. Even his neck pain is finally starting to subsist.

Their lack of conversation seems to have the opposite effect on 2D. For awhile, he gazes out the window. Then he taps around on his phone.

Eventually Murdoc catches him looking at him with a worried look on his face. He averts his eyes when he turns in his direction. “What is it?” he finally asks.

2D hesitates as if he’s deciding whether to answer truthfully or not. “Are you angry with me?”

“No. Why?”

“I don’t mean for it to seem like I don’t believe you,” 2D says. “It’s hard because I never seem to see or hear what you see or hear.”

Murdoc can’t understand what he’s so worried about. “Yeah, and? That’s why I tell you those things.”

“You weren’t just saying that to make me feel better were you?” 2D goes on, mind clearly wandering. “Because I did something wrong but you didn’t want to make me feel bad?”

“2D, when have I ever tried to avoid making you ‘feel bad’?” Murdoc sighs. _Well that sounds awful._ “...Er, what I mean to say is, when I have ever _not_ been brutally honest with you? If you were fucking up I would have told you. That’s a lot easier than making up some bloody ghost story.”

2D studies him a moment longer. Then he turns back to the window.

“Besides,” Murdoc continues. “You believed me didn’t you?”

“Eventually I did…” The singer watches as they pass car after car. “I guess I’m just trying not to let you down again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I keep thinking about what you said...on the beach,” 2D says. “How I could have helped you.”

Oh, _that_. He’s feeling like more and more of an ass for having ever brought it up. Ignoring and forgetting were his preferred approaches to his mistakes but 2D wasn’t going to allow him to do that. And the reason was because he cared about him, and that had been Murdoc’s one miscalculation. Never had he anticipated that someone would care about his well-being enough to become upset at the suggestion that they were the cause of one of his pain and misfortune. He assumed 2D would get mad at him and then get over it, but instead, 2D was wracked with guilt.

“...How maybe, if I had answered you phone calls, I would have understood and maybe you wouldn’t have had to go through that and -”

“Can you drop it?” Murdoc snaps. He turns his attention back to the road, seemingly endless in front of him. “It’s over, alright? You didn’t know and I sure as hell wouldn’t have told any of you at the time anyways.”

“I know…” 2D says. “It’s just…”

“And don’t give yourself so much credit,” Murdoc says, voice getting softer. He grips the steering wheel tightly. “It’s not like that was the first times it’s happened.”

2D stares at him in silence. Murdoc assumes he doesn’t know what to say, he probably wouldn’t know what to say if someone had told him that either.

 _What happened to you Murdoc?_ He hears the question in his head. Well this was his answer, one of them at least.

“....Oh. I didn’t...I mean...I’m sorry,” 2D stammers.

“You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” Murdoc says. “And you don’t have to put all of my shit on yourself based on one fight we had when I got angry.” Then he adds. “Or, to clarify, angrier than usual.”

“Well you’re suffering today because of what other people did to you, even though what they did happened years ago. I’d be angry too.”

“Yeah,” Murdoc sniffs. “But there isn’t so much I can do about it now, is there?”

2D thinks. “Well, there is and there isn’t.”

Murdoc shoots him a puzzled look.

“You can’t change what happened to you in the past, but you can do whatever you want with the future. You could have gone back to Detroit and hid away in your room again when you found her letters but instead you’re here. All of this between your mum and me and you’re own past...is a lot.” He pauses. “You’re really brave, Murdoc. If someone had done that to me I don’t know if I’d ever want to be close with anyone again…” he trails off. “So, uh, thank you...for trying to trust me.”

Every personal conversation they have seems to leave him with a new combination of mixed emotions. He’s embarrassed and irritated, yet relieved. The positive acknowledgement triggers his suspicion, but also gives him the overwhelming urge to pull the car over and throw his arms around 2D and cry. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to baby me,” he says. “It isn’t anything new. I’ve been living with this crap for awhile.” He decides to avoid the hugging. He isn’t ready. Instead he keeps his eyes on the road.

“I know,” 2D says. “But I want you to know that I know how, uh, big this is for us but you especially. That way, we both know...uh…” he loses his train of thought.

“Say ‘know’ again,” Murdoc teases in an attempt to lighten the mood. Their conversation so far had been intense enough for him.

2D is quiet, evidently thinking very hard. Then he says, “As the great thinker Copernicus once said - ‘To know that we know what we know, and that we do not know what we do not know, that is true knowledge.’ I think we could all learn something from him.”

Murdoc laughs. “What the hell does that have to do with anything we were just talking about?”

“I don’t know. You just said to say ‘know’ again.”

They drive for the rest of the day, chatting about significantly lighter topics until 2D insists that they stop for dinner somewhere.

“It says we’re less than 3 hours away,” Murdoc, on the other hand, is not so enthusiastic about stopping somewhere that wasn’t on their itinerary, especially somewhere in America’s deep south.

“But we’ve never really been down here,” 2D replies.

“Yeah, with good reason!”

“...And we may never come back again. So why not explore a little? You, know take a break, chill.”

“I’m not relaxing a bit down here. It’s fucking creepy.” He thinks about their recent experience getting gas at some gas station in the middle of nowhere earlier that day. “Everyone says hi to you like they’re friendly but then you always notice someone looking at you funny in the background. Sometimes it’s the same person! Exhibit A is those blokes back at that gas station we stopped at earlier - definitely looked like the types to have a secret fridge full of body parts back home.”

“We’ve been going  from stop to stop and investigating all in the same day, uncovering some new crazy secret before we get to unpack our bags. It wear me out so I can’t imagine how it is for you. When was the last time you had the chance to sit down and read some of her letters?”

2D has a point. And for the first time that day, he begins to notice how stiff he’s feeling.

“And even if we were to drive all the way to New Orleans today, nothing would be open and we wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone today anyways.”

Murdoc sighs. Did it really matter? “...Whatever,” he concedes. “But I don’t want to see anyone and I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

2D grabs the phone, a look of jubilant victory on his face. “Okey dokey.”

2D takes them farther off the highway than Murdoc would have liked, and also deeper into the south than he would have liked.

“Mississippi? _Rural_ Mississippi? Are you mental?”

“You said you didn’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone,” 2D says. “Can’t get much more remote than this. And I wanted, uh, what do they call it? Tex-Mex?”

The land is flat and the homes they pass are all one story and spread apart. Murdoc’s begun to lose count of the number of churches they’ve passed. “We just passed a place called ‘All God’s Children Learning Center.’ Listen, I enjoy a good spree of riling up god-fearing folk but I swear to Satan, 2D, if you get us murdered…” He needs more alcohol.

“It will be fine. This restaurant gets great reviews on Yelp.”

The restaurant is mostly empty, thankfully, save for a few families eating by the window and a couple of TVs with the volume turned up a little bit too loud airing a soccer game in Spanish. They ask for a booth in the corner anyways.

“See?” 2D says, adjusting Russel’s baseball cap on his head. “We blend right in.”

“I’m carrying a box of dusty envelopes around with me and you’re wearing a hat for a baseball team that doesn't exist and a pink shirt with a _dragon_ on it.”

2D looks down at his shirt, puzzled. “Yeah, what of it?”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “Whatever, I’m ordering tequila.”

For a mostly empty restaurant, service is surprisingly slow. Murdoc takes the time to read through some of his letters while 2D watches the soccer game. As he expects, their content is relatively mundane and vague. His mother shares with him her time working at the produce stand just outside her home in North Carolina, outlines her typical day, quotes some poetry and always sends her love. Still, they’re bittersweet. He wonders what kept her from him and what it would have been like had he been with her. If he had the chance to do things, things so often taken for granted like gardening, cooking and eating dinner at the table, going to the grocery store with to pick out his favorite cereal, would he still be the same Murdoc? There was no way. Who could the Murdoc who knew a mother have been?

But what intrigues him most are the pictures. The raven is in most of them. It stares at him through the faded polaroid like it can see his soul, and when he sets it aside to look at others, he swears he catches it moving out of the corner of his eye.

 _I’m still deciding what to call him,_ she writes. _For whatever reason, he’s really taken to me and he loves the decorations on the porch. He brought me one in his beak the other day. Sometimes I follow him around and he shows me wonderful things. We see lights in the woods. At home we were always told to stay away from them, but I think that one day I’ll get close to them and see for myself._

“Anything interesting?” 2D asks.

“Nope,” Murdoc lies. Well, he doesn’t really consider a lie because he doesn’t know how he would explain it if he wanted to. It was bad enough that he was interrupting all of their intimate moments with either his paranoia or his other issues. He doesn’t want to pile on to that and tell 2D he thinks the pictures are moving too. “It’s a lot of pictures of birds and stuff…” There, that was some truth.

“Can I see?” 2D reaches for the pictures and Murdoc lets him take them. “This isn’t just ‘stuff,’” he says. “This is your teddy isn’t it? And those are the chimes?”

Murdoc glances at them. They were. It was as if she had laid them on a table and taken separate photos of them purposefully. Why? He hadn’t the faintest idea. Placing his head in his hands, he sighs a weary sigh.

“What?” 2D says. “This is exciting.”

“I wish she would just spell it out,” Murdoc grumbles. “I hardly even know what I’m doing.” She was hiding something, that much was clear, and she must not have wanted his father to know. Murdoc understood her thought process to a point, but why she had tried to communicate her plan, whatever it was, with him even though he had been a child at the time, mystifies him.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” 2D agrees. “But she didn’t so we’re going to have to solve the mystery, you know? Put it together like a puzzle, figure it out...just like how we’re figuring ‘us’ out, too.”

Murdoc gulps down his tequila shot.

“It’s like I always say,” 2D continues. “Relationships are a lot like a football game. You try and try to find someone worthwhile, just like the forwards is trying and trying to get the ball past the keeper. It can take a long time - you can get bored, frustrated, desperate to the point of losing all hope and thinking a goal is  NEVER going to happen but then…” He pauses and gazes at Murdoc. “Your team finds that perfect set piece just like you find that perfect person and all of a sudden it’s-”

“GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL” Very conveniently, the long celebratory exclamation from the commentators on TV finishes his sentence for him.

“Goooooool!” 2D joins in with them.

“You’re a fan of Guatemala?” The waiter asks as he sets their food on the table. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” 2D says. “I wanted to yell along with them for dramatic effect. But Murdoc’s from Peru.” He motions in Murdoc’s direction.

Murdoc huffs.

“Oh yeah?” The waiter seems more interested now. “Habla español?”

“No,” comes his short reply. Another lie, but he can’t think of anything he would want to do less than  making small-talk with strangers.

“Well, he’s half Peruvian. We’re both from England.”

“England? You’re far away from home. What is it you have over there, the Premier League?”

“You bet,” 2D says. “But I’ve always wanted to learn more about football here, start following some of the South American leagues because how cool would it be to know about the next Pele or Messi before the rest of the world? Sure we’ve got Harry Kane but he couldn’t even take us to a World Cup title with probably the easiest bracket position in the tournament.”

“I hate football,” Murdoc says. He wants 2D to quit prolonging the conversation and he wants the random stranger to go away.

But 2D doesn’t stop. “Oh and Murdoc, I forget if I ever told you but I used to play. I was a midfielder and was basically the star of my team throughout primary school. My coach said I could’ve been a star player with my unique approach to game play always tripping over the ball and stuff...pretty cool, huh? I mean, I actually was a star player already I just could been...more like a..superstar player. Pretty impressive, huh?” He adds in an over-exaggerated wink for good measure.

Murdoc holds up his now shot empty glass. “Can you get me another one of these?”

“Of course. Then I’ll leave you to enjoy your meal,” the waiter says and makes a hasty exit.

“So you really do hate football,” 2D comments.

Murdoc thinks. Who or what was he mad at? He knows he feels irritated, and he can sense himself wanting to jeer and snip at 2D and any other unfortunate stranger who happens to interact with him. However, he also knows he has no reason to be angry with anyone right now. He recalls a distant memory of 2D explaining “feeling words” to him, and turns the question towards himself. What was he feeling? What words could he use?

_I can’ relax. I’m uneasy here. I think I’m being watched, but I don’t know who or what it is. The pictures are moving. I don’t know what my mum is talking about. I don’t want to tell 2D because he doesn’t see or hear or feel  anything I do. He’ll think I’m crazy. He already thinks I’m crazy but he’s just too nice to say it. I trust him and I don’t trust him._

“Murdoc,” 2D says.

Murdoc blinks. “What?”

“You’re doing it again...the thinking.”

“There’s a lot to think about.” He shovels a spoonful of bean and rice into his mouth. It’s like he’s chewing on tasteless matter. “So my apologies if football doesn’t exactly top the list.”

2D looks down at his plate. “Oh.”

“...But I don’t hate it,” Murdoc says. It feels strange to be softening his initial statement but relative to the strangeness he’s been feeling all day it’s hardly noticeable. If he was being honest, he had never paid much attention to the sport growing up and didn’t know much about it - not enough to form a strong opinion. “I’m just...a little preoccupied at the moment.”

“I understand,” 2D says. “Well, actually I don’t. But I understand that I don’t understand.”

“I hurt,” Murdoc blurts out, shocking himself. But he can’t bear to carry so much around within himself any longer. He’s so tired. And his words leave 2D in rapt attention.

“In my neck and in my shoulder,” he continues. “And Satan knows where else. I never know when it’s going to happen, but it’s usually before things go mental. It hurt this morning when I was saw - I mean I thought I saw something in the room…”

“You saw something in the room,” 2D affirms. “I know I was being a wanker about it but if you saw something you saw something. What about the pain? It happened before you saw it?”

Murdoc nods. “In my neck.” He can feel the raven’s eyes on him and he flips the picture over. Protective spell or not, he wasn’t feeling so protected right now. “I know it was annoying but I don’t know what would have happened if we stayed, and I wasn’t going to stick around to find out.”

“Woah,” 2D says. “But don’t be so hard on yourself about interrupting us. I’d rather be interrupted and have you still be alive than you dying or...who knows what happening.”

 _Maybe he’s right_ , Murdoc considers. _Or maybe he’s lying and he’s just waiting for you to let your guard down so he can leave you again._ He remains silent.

“Have you ever felt pain at random moments like that before?” 2D asks.

“No,” is Murdoc’s initial reply, but after he thinks about he adds. “Only recently.”

“Oh yeah?”

Murdoc hesitates. He isn’t sure he want to talk about it now, but some part of him must if he’s brought it up. “They started back at the house...In Stoke,” he finally says. “When I went inside.”

2D nods in silent understanding.

“But never before that,” Murdoc adds. “Only after he kicked the bucket.”

“Are the pains in places where…?” 2D stops himself. Murdoc is grateful.

“Not here,” he says, flagging down their waiter for another mixed drink. “I don’t want to talk about it here.”

* * *

By the time they leave, 2D has two heavy boxes of leftovers and Murdoc is tipsy. He’s not as drunk as he has been, but he’s had enough to take the tension out of his shoulders and the suspicion out of his gaze. He doesn’t even fight when 2D guides him the the passenger’s seat and takes the keys. _A break, you need a break_. He doesn’t say it but Murdoc can feel it in his touch as he opens the door for him and gently nudges him in.

“So, where to now?” He asks as 2D plugs in directions on his phone. 

“It’s a surprise,” 2D says. “But it’s definitely a place where we won’t have to see or talk to anyone.” Then he turns on their road trip playlist.

And he doesn’t lie. Murdoc is too busy singing along - badly - to the playlist with him that he doesn’t take note of their surroundings until 2D parks the car and the music turns off.

“Hey...uh, where the hell are we?” All he sees are trees, and when he looks ahead, sky.

“We’re camping!” 2D says. “Well, not exactly. I figured we could push the seat down in the back and sleep there, and then we have our leftovers for tomorrow.” He motions ahead of them. “And we have this nice view!”

Somehow, he’s found a clearing at the edge of the forest and what looks like some sort of marsh or pond. It’s difficult to see in the dark but as he walks towards the edge of the woods Murdoc can make out long grass and murky water. And up above is clear, midnight blue sky.

Behind him, 2D is crouched down and rubbing two sticks together unsuccessfully. “I figured this would be nice and private. We can have a fire, roast some marshmallows…”

“So does anyone know we’re here, or did you just pick some woods to drive into and call it a night?”

“No, it said online people camp here aaaall the time.” 2D rubs the sticks together more vigorously. Nothing. “Hey, Murdoc, could you give this a try? I don’t think it’s working.”

“2D, I have a lighter. _You_ have a lighter. Just use that.” He doesn’t even want to ask if he acquired a camping permit for them.

“I know but I wanted to try it like Bear Grylls does on _Man versus Wild_ , like a really badass survivalist-”

“We don’t even have any marshmallows.”

2D has to think about this one. “You’re right. I did forget to stop and get those...”

“And I know you didn’t bother getting us a camping permit or reserving this campground for us…” he changes his mind about the permit thing. “So as much as I appreciate the opportunity to have such an interesting charge on my record, it’s probably for the best that we avoid burning their entire forest down.”

“We have to reserve a campground?” 2D looks even more at a loss. “It just said on Google we could camp here. I didn’t know we had to tell anyone.”

Murdoc slaps a hand to his forehead. Then he sighs. “Well, It’s far from the most illegal thing either of us have ever done...”

2D’s expression goes from dumbfounded to determined. “I’m going to get the car ready,” he says, and opens the back door. Murdoc watches as he hastily moves their bags and half-eaten pastries and leftover beans from England that somehow had made it through customs out of the back, and makes a few adjustments to the seatbelts. He pulls at the backseat, again unsuccessful. Refusing to admit defeat, he goes into the trunk and tries to push the seat from that angle.

Murdoc watches him struggle, amused. “You sure are showing the car who’s boss.”

“I’ve almost got it,” 2D says, huffing as he pushes the seat with his shoulder. It doesn’t budge.

Murdoc thinks it’s funny so he watches him for a moment longer trying to stifle his laughter. But inside he knows that if he doesn’t do anything, 2D would be doing this for hours and they probably wouldn’t have a place to sleep. So eventually he goes to help, taking a seat in the back and pulling as 2D pushes from the trunk. Still, it doesn’t budge.

“What the hell kind of car is this?” He grumbles to himself.

“It’s a 2016 Toyota Yaris,” 2D says. “It has a safety rating of 4, gets up to 37 miles to the gallon, it has a USB port -which is why I picked it to rent. And the seats…” He gives them another shove. “...are _supposed_ to fold down.”

The futility of their attempts becoming obvious, Murdoc stops pulling and begins to rifle around in his pocket for a cigarette. They could always just sleep in the seats or squeeze into the trunk. He doesn’t notice 2D poking around at some different buttons in the back. “Well, they aren’t budging so-”

Suddenly, the seat gives way. He doesn’t see the headrest flying towards his face until it’s too late, and the impact throws him back against the front seat with an embarrassing yelp.

“Muds?” he hears 2D ask frantically.

“Shit.” His checks his nose first. It aches, but it isn’t bleeding and it’s not broken. Outside of being a little bit disoriented, he’s okay. Mildly annoyed, but okay.

2D is by his side and checking on him anyways. “I thought you were looking,” he says. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have pushed it.” He’s worrying more than he’s thinking, and he cups his face in his hands, tilting it towards him so he can examine him even as Murdoc stiffens at the sudden movement. “Are you hurt? Is anything bleeding?”

“Nope and nope…” Murdoc twists away from him. Whatever calm had fallen over him that morning when they were in bed together was gone, apparently. He was still just as much of a mess as he had always been. On top of his discouraged feeling, the confined space he’s in is making him increasingly more uncomfortable. “Just let me out of here.”

2D blinks in realization. “Right, of course.” He steps out of the way. “I didn’t mean to…”

Murdoc sighs and he pushes himself out. “Don’t worry about it.” He’s becoming so tired of himself.

Once out, he wanders to the water’s edge and sits, listening to the chorus of frog croaks as he runs his hand through the water. 2D joins him soon after.

“I guess I’m zero for five now,” he remarks. “Like in football - five shots on goal, but no goal.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m making us camp illegally, I couldn’t light the fire, I forgot the marshmallows and I couldn’t set up our bed without whacking you in the face. I went back and read the owner’s manual - I was supposed to take the headrests out of the seat _before_ trying to push it down. And then I startled you again.”

Murdoc shrugs. “Relatively speaking I’ve had days that make this feel like a luxury vacation. I can live without marshmallows and I can take a whack in the face.”

“Yeah, well,” 2D grabs a stone sitting on the bank and tosses it into the water. “I trying to make this all easier for you, not harder.”

“And who says you aren’t?” Murdoc looks up at the sky. _Lights,_ he thinks. _Were those the lights she was talking about?_

2D’s face relaxes and he looks up at the sky with him. “It’s nice isn’t it? Is this what the sky looked like when you were writing your song?”

Now it’s Murdoc’s turn to think. His song, right. That feels like centuries ago. “I...can’t say I remember,” he admits. “I know I felt...lost, directionless. But that was before I knew a whit of about what ‘feeling lost’ actually means.”

“Sometimes you feel the most lost in the moments right before you’re found,” 2D says. “We could work on it again, your song, I mean...if you want to. There’s not Russel or Noodle here to stop us.” He grins conspiratorially  “And I still have some work to do on that bridge.”

He’s well-meaning. Murdoc knows he’s trying to cheer him up, but the memory of his drinking binges in Detroit only seem to add more weight to him. “I’m not the same person who scratched those words out on paper as I am now...I hardly remember what I was thinking.”

“If you don’t think you’re you...then who are you now?” 2D asks.

Murdoc can feel his throat tightening. “...I don’t know.” So much of himself he had manufactured out of self-destructive habits and who he thought he should be, who he thought he deserved to be. He felt lost back in Detroit because his freedom to create as he pleased had been taken away. He feels lost now because everything he thought he knew about himself was bit by bit getting smashed to pieces. Then again, he’d been so focused on surviving for so much of his life that he doesn’t think he could describe himself outside of that. “I don’t think I’ve ever known.”

“Well I know,” 2D says. “You’re Murdoc.”

Murdoc wishes it was that simple.

“You’re like that star over there.” 2D points to the sky.

“Star?” Murdoc squints. “What star?”

“That one right over there. Right beneath the Andromeda constellation... _Andromedaaa, Andromedaaaa, Andromedaaaa.”_ He sings the last part of the sentence, mimicking their how his vocals were layered on their single.

“They all look the same,” Murdoc grumbles.

“Not the one that I’m pointing towards. It burns with so much intensity,” 2D insists. “But what I’m also trying to say is stars are so beautiful, a bit scary, but beautiful. They’re also distant, but when the moment is right, they fall to earth and become a part of something new and they’re even more beautiful that before.”

Murdoc can feel his face turning red. He’s glad it’s dark. “Don’t stars fall out of the sky when they’re dead?”

“No, that’s a common misconception. They ‘die’ when we see them in the sky. That’s them exploding. But I personally think that even when they’re exploding they’re not dying because they don’t cease to exist. They just change. And when they fall to earth they change. They’re constantly evolving but that doesn't mean they stop being stars. Just like how you're evolving, but that doesn't mean you stop being Murdoc.”

“2D…” Murdoc doesn’t know what to say. _Are you sure you mean me when you say that?_ “You don’t have to milk it.”

“I do.” 2D talks to him like he can hear his thoughts. “Because you can’t seem to believe it.”

Murdoc toys with his necklace, trying to avoid eye contact. “...Well no one’s ever talked to me the way you’re talking to me.” It’s so, so difficult to speak but he thinks of his mother and he thinks of 2D, and their promise to try to trust each other. “I...think that’s what scares me so much. I’ve never been treated the way you treated me back at that motel the day after we kissed, or the way you treated me on the beach. I’ve never been written about the way you write about me. And here’s the rub - a part of me knows that what you’re doing is normal, and that I should be happy...And I’m getting there - to being ‘happy’...I think. But at the same time it reminds me of how I’m just...all wrong.” He hugs his knees to his chest. “I can experience something good, know that it’s good and _still_ have it repel me to the point of wanting to push people away...it’s pathetic.”

“It’s not.” 2D reaches a hand towards him. “I’m going to touch you now, Muds, right on your shoulder. Is that okay?”

Murdoc makes a frustrated noise and buries his face in his arms. “Of _course_ you can. This is what I’m talking about - pathetic.” Why couldn’t he just work right?

“It’s not and you’re not.” 2D says again. He rubs his shoulder gently. “I don’t know everything your father did to you, or everything anyone else did to you, but just because you still hurt from all of that doesn’t make you unworthy of happiness. And it doesn’t make you...not normal. What happened to you wasn’t normal and you adapted the best that you could.”

The words leave him with even more mixed emotions but again, Murdoc finds himself leaning into the touch. Despite the alcohol wearing off, he wants more. He wants more and he wants avoid messing anything up this time.

“...And one day, I’m going to say something nice to you and you’re going to believe me, and when we look at the sky you’re going to see the star I’m talking about and think, ‘hey, that’s the star 2D says looks like me.’”

Murdoc peers out from behind his arms. “You think that’s possible,” he says. It comes out as a remark more than a question. “I can hardly even look up without my heart fucking pounding.”

“I know it is,” 2D says, and when Murdoc looks at him he can’t find one shred out doubt in his eyes. “And I’d like to be with you when that day comes, if you’ll have me…”

There’s something about the way the moonlight hits his face and his hair that Murdoc finds mesmerizing. It’s as if 2D is someone who is best seen at night. It wasn’t that he didn’t have his charm any other time of the day, but it’s only at night when it’s nearly impossible to tear his eyes away. He isn’t so wary of nighttime when 2D is with him.

As Murdoc absorbs his words, he nods. “You, uh...want to go lay down?” He holds his gaze, unsure of exactly what he’s asking for other than “more.”

But even if he doesn’t know, 2D seems to understand him. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.” And then he pushes himself into a standing position. Murdoc watches as he walks before getting up himself.

They don’t even make it to the car before they’re connected. It only takes a few knowing glances before Murdoc wraps his arms around 2D’s neck and presses his mouth against his with a feverish urgency. 2D opens his mouth to receive him, arms snug around his waist. He keeps their bodies close as he stumbles backwards until his back is against the car.

It registers in Murdoc’s head that there is an unknown stretch of forest behind him. In any other scenario this would make him nervous. Even as he’s kissing 2D, there’s still that faint feeling that something’s watching him. Somehow, the sensation of the singers’ hands around him give him enough of a feeling of safety that he can overcome his worries and stay lost in his touch.

“I’m going to move my hands,” 2D says to him between kisses.

Murdoc feels his hand snake up his shirt, rucking it up as he runs his hands along the small of his back. He groans in response, grinding his hips against his eagerly. “You got any lube on you?” he murmurs. He needs some sort of release tonight and he was going to be successful this time.

“No I, uh, don’t think I do,” 2D replies, hand trailing along the curve of his ass. “...Fuck.”

Murdoc kisses along his neck until he decides upon his next move. “I can work with that.” He sinks down to his knees.

“Oh, uh...wow.” 2D stares, mouth agape as Murdoc jimmies the button of his jeans and zipper open. “Okay...shit...Hey, Muds...wait.”

Murdoc stops. “So is that a ‘no’?” He’s surprised. Was 2D really telling him what he thinks he’s telling him?

“No! It isn’t!” 2D replies frantically. “I, uh, don’t want this to sound weird but...I’ve been fantasizing about something like this for years...I just don’t want you to do this if you don’t want to.”

In his head, Murdoc curses at him. What would it take for him to stop tiptoeing around him like a delicate flower? He doesn’t want to spend the rest of their sex life being treated that way. But lucky for 2D, arguing was not currently his top priority. “I wouldn’t be down here if I didn’t want to…” He persists, palming him through his underwear earning an eager moan from the singer, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides in anticipation. “So...is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” he asks, begrudgingly adding, “I’ll let you know if we need to stop…”

2D nods, already looking dizzy for what was about to come next. “Yes...it’s a yes.”

_Finally._

Murdoc doesn’t waste another second in getting his dick free from his underwear, fervent as he takes him into his mouth completely.

His hands grip the others thighs to keep himself steady as he sucks, occasionally breaking his rhythm to drag his tongue along the length of his shaft before sucking and swallowing him down again. Above him he can hear 2D groaning and panting as he thrusts against him, hands clasped on his shoulders and twisting the fabric of his shirt.

Murdoc finds the noises intoxicating and they only make him want to take 2D in deeper. There’s a feeling of satisfaction that he gets, even as he struggles to suck in air through his nose, from listening to him unravel and knowing that he was cause.

He continues his efforts until 2D shudders and seizes, losing himself and grabbing fistfuls of his hair as he comes deep in the back of his throat.

Head rendered immobile, Murdoc breathes in through his nose sharply and begins clawing at his wrists in a panic. _Not again, not again._

As soon as he notices his distress 2D lets him go and Murdoc pulls away from him, coughing.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Muds…” 2D says after a few moments trying to collect himself, still clearly reeling from his orgasm. “I wasn’t thinking…I’m sorry...” Slowly, slides down to the ground with him. 

Murdoc has to compose himself too, leaning back against the car. _Just 2D,_ he reminds himself and he wipes his hand across his mouth and breathes. _Just 2D._ There’s frustration with himself twisting in his stomach. This was all so difficult.

 _But it isn’t his fault_. That, he knows.

 _And it isn’t your fault either._ Why was that so hard for him to believe?

“You’re welcome,” is all he says. He wants to pretend it didn’t happen.

2D pulls up his pants and scooches over so that he’s beside him in the clearing. “That...that was amazing. _You’re_ amazing...I love -” As the sentence begins Murdoc can feel the panic rising in him all over again. Thankfully, 2D comes to his senses enough to stop himself there. “I love...everything about what you just did.” He looks at him, eyes apologetic. “But now I also feel terrible.”

“I’m alright,” Murdoc says. “You surprised me but...it’s not your fault.” He pauses. “It just...is.” There wasn’t any other way to describe it. It wasn’t good, that was for sure, but the more time he spent fearing it and hating himself for it, the worse he felt. It simply was. And eventually, he would have to learn to coexist with it if he could. He takes a deep breath in and out. “Anyways,” he adds, a small smile forming on his face. “Why don’t we focus on the important things, like me. Did the reality match the fantasy? Was I everything you ever dreamed of?”

2D snorts and places a hand on his shoulder. “Of course you were,” Then he looks him over, gradually leaning closer. “But, uh...we aren’t quite finished yet, are we?” He rests his hand on Murdoc’s thigh, drawing his attention to his own arousal, which up until now has gone unattended.

“And what are you suggesting?” He can feel the anticipation building in his body.

“Well, uh, I thought I’d finish what I started this morning...if that’s alright with you.”

His hand lingers until Murdoc can tell he’s about to draw it back. He places his own hand on his,stopping him, and guides him closer looking him straight in the eyes. “Have at it, mate.”

“Alright then,” 2D says, grin growing on his face. The a sudden realization hits him. “Just hold on a sec, okay?” He goes to the trunk before Murdoc can question him further. When he returns, Murdoc can see that he’s rubbing lotion on his hands. “I had to, uh, improvise a little...”

“Well you know what I say - ‘live it,’” Murdoc says.“You could have done it dry if you wanted. I…trust you.” He’s trying to hint to him that he wants him to hurry up.

2D looks at him in excited disbelief as he returns to his side. “Well I want this to feel as good for you as you made me feel.”

“I’m sure it will.” Murdoc tries to mask the impatience in his voice. He wasn’t sure what 2D fantasized about but this definitely wasn’t what he envisioned when he thought about their sex life or sex in general. Did it usually involve so much checking in? Did it usually feel so...awkward? 

2D gives him a quick kiss. “So, uh, just lean back and relax and...let me know if you need anything.”

Finally. “Yeah, yeah,” Murdoc replies, but as soon as he feels 2D’s breath on his neck he listens.

He makes quick work of him, kissing and nipping along his neck as he undoes his jeans and cups his erection. The sudden friction sends a jolt up his spine and through his entire body. It really had been far too long, he thinks to himself, head thrown back against the car door, gasping and shuddering. 2D runs his tongue along the curve of his collarbone as he strokes and palms him. Eventually, Murdoc doesn’t bother retaining any semblance of self-control, moaning as he grips the fabric of his shirt to pull him closer.

He comes quickly with a gasp, face buried in the singer’s hair.

They stay there together for a moment. Murdoc listens to quietly to 2D’s breathing as well as his own as the others hair tickles his nose. He processes the moment. For as awkward as he felt it was, he feels so at ease holding 2D and having 2D hold him.

 _In the middle of the woods. Where you shouldn’t even be camping. With your cock out._ He brushes the thoughts aside with a small smile. None of that mattered. This was their start. All epic love stories had to start somewhere, right?

_Love story?_

He pushes that thought out of his mind right away.

2D is the first to break the silence. “Gooooooool,” he cheers quietly, brushing his hair out of his face and kissing his forehead.

Murdoc laughs. “Why do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“That thing with my fringe...what you just did.”

“Oh, uh…” 2D mulls over the question. “I guess because I like to see your whole face, you know? You never really show it, but you’ve been allowing me to look and, well, I like that. You have a nice face.”

 _A nice face_. In his head, Murdoc throws his arms around him and kisses him and thanks him, not just for complimenting him but for everything he’s said to him and done for him. But on the outside, he’s frozen, unsure if what he’s heard is real or something he dreamed or if 2D is lying. “If you say so….” he says.

2D chuckles. “Well, it isn’t ‘don’t milk it’ so I’ll take it.” He yawns. “So, uh, what do you say we get some rest?”

“It’s always good to end on a high note. Christ. I didn't know how much I needed that.” Murdoc agrees as he zips up his pants. “Anyhow...I think I’m going to sit here a minute. You go ahead.”

He sits there for a few minutes after 2D leaves, trying to see if the stars look any different to him. But they look just as uniform as they did earlier and he feels the same nervousness returning. Eventually, he gives up and joins the singer in the car.

2D has his yoga mat spread out like a sort of makeshift mattress, and he’s in the the process of digging out a blanket as Murdoc roots around in his own bag for a beer. Once he finds one, he watches 2D work, unsure of what to say. Once again, they were broaching on relationship territory that was completely alien to him. Normally, his trysts would end with him passing out and kicking his partner out that night or the next day, and he would never speak to that person again. He can’t do that with 2D - he can’t make any fake promises to call him, he can’t call him a cab home, he can’t ignore him. And he doesn’t _want_ to to do that to 2D, he just doesn’t know what to do.

Sensing his discomfort, 2D turns to him. “You didn’t just do that because you felt bad about the beach and the hotel this morning, did you?”

“No,” is Murdoc’s blunt reply. Still, his question causes him to momentarily second guess himself. The interruptions played a role in motivating him, that was true, but was that really so bad? If he hadn’t wanted to, he wouldn’t have. His goal was to get off and to get 2D off. He doesn’t know why he needs to scrutinize it any further than that. “Everything I do, I do because I want to. How many times do I have to tell you? It’s just...new.”

2D seems to accept his response. “It is for me too...But it felt...right.”  He smiles. “Like I learned more about you, like this was...special.” He flops down on their bed for the night. “Care to join me?”

Murdoc finishes his beer and crawls over to him, lying down beside him. “...It did feel right.”

2D turns to face him and runs a hand through his hair. Murdoc notices a brief moment of tensing before he lets out a relaxed sigh. The pace still felt glacial at best, but they were getting used to each other. More specifically, Murdoc was beginning to want to try to get used to himself. He still hated his body and its reactions but at least 2D knew the source of his reactions and, as far as he could tell, was making good on his promise to be patient with him. It made him want to try to be patient too, even if doing so felt impossible.

“We’ll be more prepared next time,” 2D says with a yawn. He pulls a the blanket over them.

“...Yeah,” Murdoc agrees then closes his eyes, hoping one beer is enough to allow him some sound sleep.

That night, he dreams of lights drifting through the forest.

* * *

He’s awake before the sun rises, and the first thing he sees is his teddy bear. As its lifeless eyes gaze into his he feels a sense of embarrassment. It’s like his mother, or the spirit of his mother, is interrogating him. _Why didn’t this “2D” rent a hotel room for you so you could sleep on a regular bed and not out in the wilderness? Is this being respectful, mijo? Are you two being safe together?_

Normal, worried parent questions. He wonders what it would have been like to have a parent worry about him.

2D snores quietly behind him, an arm wrapped around his waist.

“I’m fine, mum,” he whispers, placing his hand on the bear’s head. “Actually...I’m not, but, I think I’m trying now. And this idiot beside me is helping.” What _was_ worrisome was how normal he feels talking to a stuffed animal. But he’s noticing a pull from it that he hadn’t picked up on until now. It’s odd, but soothing. 

His thoughts are interrupted by a harsh banging on the window. He jumps and immediately pulls the covers over him. Casting a fearful glance towards the outside, he sees something move but he can’t tell what is it. The most logical guess in his mind is that it’s whatever it is that’s after him.

“Wha?” 2D is also startled awake.

“Outside. Something’s outside.” Murdoc whispers, eyes wide. He tries to burrow himself deeper into the blankets. “Where are the keys? We have have to leave.”

Sluggish, 2D sits ups and takes a look around. Then he waves. “It’s just a park ranger,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll talk to him.”

He’s back within ten minutes, unphased.

Murdoc breathes a quiet sigh of relief. “Well?”

“It was a $100 dollar fine,” 2D yawns. “So I paid him right there. We’ve got an hour to vacate...so that’s enough time to eat and do some stuff.”

They each do their best adapting their respective morning routines to the outdoors. 2D does his yoga by the water and Murdoc smokes a cigarette and drinks another beer. Every few minutes, he takes time to examine this surroundings, unconvinced that they’re as safe as 2D seems to think they are. He eventually returns to the car and sits on the edge of the trunk trying to find a pastry that doesn’t already have a bite in it. It’s then that his fears are proven right and something large and black flies into his head.

Convinced that it’s whatever was stalking him in the hotel room trying to kill him, he screams and swings at it but it’s already gone. He ends up falling on his ass on the forest floor.

“Muds?” 2D comes running from the bank brandishing a stick. “Stay back!” He commands at the woods even though it’s clear he has no idea what he’s supposed to be looking for. For good measure, he swings the stick at the air a few times.

But what they’re looking for isn’t in the air. The raven is perched mere feet away from Murdoc, head cocked to the side as it stares at him. Murdoc stares back, frozen in fear.

“Is that it? The raven you were talking about?” 2D asks. “The one in the photos?”

The raven takes a hop towards him and he catches a glimpse of its one white feather. He feels like he’s going to pass out.

“Hello,” 2D bends down to address it. “Do you want to talk to Murdoc?” He talks to it like it’s some harmless animal he’s meeting at a petting zoo.

“Murdoc,” it says, it’s dark eyes locked on him, unblinking. It takes another hop towards.

“Get it away!” Murdoc scrambles backwards until his back hits the bumper. “I don’t want it near me! Get it the fuck away!”

His yelling springs 2D into action. He points the stick at it. “Go away!” he warns with far less bravado, swinging at it timidly. “Or I’ll, uh…”

“Murdoc.” The bird hops past 2D and closer to Murdoc until it’s by his side. He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing himself as far back against the bumper as he can and preparing himself for whatever came next. But all it does is tap its beak against the chime around his neck. “She’s looking.”

Murdoc opens his eyes. The fear isn’t entirely gone, but he’s struck by the sudden feeling of comfort that washes over him. He gazes into its emotionless eyes. _Trust._ The thought enters his head, he doesn’t know where from, but he listens to it. Then he feels it - the same soothing feeling he felt from his stuffed bear earlier that morning. Cautiously, he lifts a quivering hand and pets its head.

The bird fluffs its feather and pecks at his necklace again. “Murdoc.”

“Wh-where?” Murdoc asks, still cautious. “Where is she?”

“Go,” the raven says. “He’s looking.”

“Who is?”

“Go!” The raven begins to flap its wings and Murdoc notices a gust of wind rippling through the leaves of the forest. “Go! Go south!”

“Hey, Murdoc,” 2D says. “I think we ought to listen to it. I don’t know where all these clouds came from...but it looks like it’s going to rain any second now.”

But Murdoc is transfixed. “....H-how long have you known her?”

“Go!”

“Come on, Muds.” 2D reaches towards him and gives his shoulder a gentle yet urgent shake.

Before Murdoc can say anything the raven lets out a shrill caw and flies at him, pecking and clawing at him as he yells and tries to shield his face.

It takes a moment for Murdoc to realize that it’s attacking him and not just trying to nuzzle him or befriend him. Animals, as a rule, loved 2D. “Hey, uh...it’s okay!” It sounds so strange to hear himself say that, to be the role of calming an animal down around 2D of all people. He doesn’t even know if the bird will listen to him. “He’s safe! He’s my...” His what? His boyfriend? Was this really the time to utter that word out loud? “He’s safe,” he says again. No, it wasn’t.

At the sound of his voice the bird stops and flies back over to him. Instinctively, he holds his arm out so it has somewhere to land. His jacket is thick enough that its talons aren’t too painful on his skin.

“We’re going, alright?” Murdoc says to it. “We’ve been, uh, traveling around together for quite bit.” He points to 2D. “He’s...the reason I got this far in the first place. His name is 2D and...he just might be starting to mean a lot to me. So be nice.”

“Aww,” 2D lowers his arms from his face and smiles. “Do you mean that, Muds?”

Murdoc exhales and rests his head back against the bumper. “Don’t push it.”

“Murdoc!” The raven flaps its wings. “Murdoc!”

 _I’ll be looking out for you_. Again he doesn’t hear it, but the thought registers in his head. “I know,” he says.

It takes a final look at him and flies up into the trees. “Go!” it says one last time. Then it flies away.

2D stares until it’s out of sight. “Woah...”

Murdoc pushes himself to his feet. “That means, ‘follow me.’” And with a new sense of resolve, he grabs the car keys.

* * *

The rain is pouring from the sky by the time they pull onto the highway, and it stays that way until they pass the sign welcoming them to Louisiana and are well into the city.

“Great,” Murdoc mutters. “We’re finally here and it’s going to be another bloody Katrina.” 

“I’m glad I got to meet your new friend,” 2D says. “Even if he was a bit mean at first...or she. Do you know if it’s a he or a she?”

“I don’t even know it’s really a bird.” But it was an ally, or at least that’s what he thinks he felt it telling him and his own instinct tells him. Still, Murdoc thinks about all the times he’s trusted his instincts only to have it end horribly. It isn’t something he can figure out now. He glances at the directions and raises an eyebrow. “Hey, 2D, why is this taking us all the way down Highway 23 if the address is in New Orleans?”

“Oh that. Well, when I typed in the original address it took me to a website for this place, ‘The Bayou’s Best Tea, Palm and Tarot Readings,’ and then when I went to the website, it had a different address which was this one, so I went with the website. I think they moved locations.”

The rain is falling in sheets. The car’s windshield wipers can barely keep up with it. Murdoc has to drive more slowly that he’s comfortable to make sure they stay on the road without hydroplaning. “Why are all these places in the middle of nowhere?” A car coming from the opposite direction speeds past them sending another sheet of water splashing onto the windshield. “So-called ‘psychics’ thrive off of gullible tourists and wannabe new-age hipsters to make their living. What possesses someone to move their business so far off the grid?”

Their destination is a worn looking trailer along the Mississippi River. And once again, their car is the only car in the driveway. The only visual that indicates it’s a business is an “Open” sign hanging on the door with hours listed. It’s hardly convincing. Murdoc doesn’t even want to bring his pictures in with him outside of the ones in his wallet. It’s going to take enough effort to get out of the car.

Neither of them have any rain gear, and in the seconds it takes them to run from the vehicle to the trailer they get soaked.

“I forget how mental the weather can be in the States,” 2D comments from behind chattering teeth.

The inside of the trailer doesn’t look like any kind of psychic reading place he’s been in the past. The furniture looks like it hasn’t been updated since the sixties. Various taxidermy animals, old records and hunting magazines are scattered among the shelves. _Like Russel’s room,_ Murdoc thinks, _only more Republican._

“You lookin’ for someone?” A man greets them from the kitchen.

Murdoc turns to 2D. “Nice going. This is clearly the wrong place. So what we need-”

“Hello!” 2D says to the man, ignoring him. “We’re looking for a Miss Dorothy. Is this the right place.”

The man considers his question. “Do you have an appointment?” He eventually asks.

So it was the right place? Murdoc is still skeptical.

2D thinks. “Ummm, no. But it’s important.”

The man sighs and overdramatic sigh and as if it's something he's heard a lot. “Wait here.”

So they do. 2D wastes no time sitting down on the couch despite his sodden clothes. Murdoc hesitates, thinking it might be more prudent to avoid angering the trailer’s residents who clearly have a penchant for hunting. But soon enough he feels stupid standing in the doorway dripping and joins 2D on the couch, boots squelching with each step.

“I have a good feeling about this place,” 2D says.

Murdoc looks askance at the stuffed woodchuck sitting on the coffee table in front of them. “That’s reassuring.”

“Can I ask you something, Murdoc?” 2D asks. But he doesn’t wait for Murdoc to answer. “How long have you been interested in blokes?”

Immediately, Murdoc does a quick scan of the room. “Excuse me?!” he whispers harshly. It isn’t the change in subject he was expecting.

“Last night...I was thinking about it and it made me wonder how long you’ve been interested in men.”

“Why, 2D? Why are you picking _now_ , in a trailer in the middle of bloody hicksville, to bring this up?”

“Well earlier I was busy thinking about it. I thought about it the entire drive down.” 2D looks down at his hands. “I’m thinking about asking this lady for my own reading so I could get some guidance on my own- only if we have time of course - but since we're both here, I thought I could skip all that and ask you face to face. So, for example, when you think about your future, do you imagine yourself with a man? You know, like long-term?”

“Shhh!” Murdoc takes another quick glance towards the kitchen.

“Well do-” 2D starts to say until he sees Murdoc glare. “Well do you?” he whispers.

“I don’t think about ‘long-term’ anything.”

2D’s face falls. “Is this about last night?”

“What? No!”

“Because I wanted to do the same for you as you did for me,” 2D continues. “But I’m not so good at, you know, sucking off blokes...at least I don’t think I am...I haven’t tried too much...they mostly just offer it to me and then I never really offer back…And I didn’t want to follow up yours with something bad and have it be weird and-”

“It was great!” Murdoc interrupts. “Last night was great! Now, if this is a conversation you absolutely have to have with me can we _at least_ wait to talk about it in the car?”

“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t unsatisfied or underwhelmed...and I also wanted to make sure you knew I wasn’t just being a pussy or anything...”

“ _Alright._ Fine,” Murdoc grumbles. “To be perfectly clear - my answer doesn’t have anything to do with last night, okay? You’re probably the longest long term anything I’ve ever had, Stu.” He taps his foot, nervous. “And I don’t know exactly what that means yet but I guess it has to mean something.”

And just like that, 2D is smiling again.

“And if you have to know…” Murdoc decides to keep going. If it would get 2D to stop talking about their intimate moments in strange places he was going to do it. “I guess I was around…fourteen or so when I knew. I experimented a lot, got around…” It’s a half truth. He doesn’t really know. So much of his childhood is fuzzy and distant, and his control over what he does and doesn’t remember about that part of his life has always been nonexistent. The memories only ever seem to come to him at night or when a person, place or thing brings them barreling back against his will.

2D’s question also prompts him to try and remember a time in his life when he didn’t know about sex. He can’t. It leaves him with a familiar nauseous feeling.

“Oh, okay,” 2D says. “I only ask because I never really knew until, um...you.”

Murdoc doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he wasn’t expecting that. “...Me?”

“It’s, uh, like I read to you. That night. I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that night, and I didn’t know what it meant. That’s where it started, I think. Then I experimented too.”

“2D…” They hadn’t even talked to whoever this lady was and he’s already so tired. And wet. An cold. And their conversation is fast becoming overwhelming.

2D gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. That was all a while ago and I’m comfortable with who I am now. And even if I’m not the best at everything, there’s a whole more I’m good at.” He winks “...If you know what I mean.”

Murdoc is about to respond with one of his quips when they’re interrupted by a door creaking open.  The man who spoke to them earlier wheels in an elderly lady in a wheelchair who looks as if she’s half-asleep. He parks the wheelchair by the couch where they’re sitting. “It’s forty bucks for a half an hour reading,” he says. The he leaves.

 _So many old women_ , Murdoc thinks. But if his mother was dabbling in dark and light magic as he had been told, it made sense that she would have made contact with a coven or two.

“The sky told me someone special would be visiting today,” she says, staring at him. “I wonder if it could be you.”

“I think it is,” 2D says. “I’m Stu and this is Murdoc. He’s looking for his mum.”

“It’s nothing,” Murdoc says. “Listen, lady, your time is appreciated but I don’t think this is the right place...” His damp clothes are starting to bother him anyways.

“You’re caught between two worlds,” the woman says to him. This gets his attention. “Your known and your unknown, the light and the dark, the living and the dead. You’re in the in-between.” Her eyes fall to his necklace. “What are you running from?”

It takes all of his resolve to stop himself from getting up and bolting out of the door. “I..I..don’t know.”

“Can I go get the pictures?” 2D asks.

Not taking his eyes off her, Murdoc gives him a small nod.

“A picture of who?” 

“My mother,” Murdoc says. “She left me with my father in England when I was a baby and never came back. My father’s dead now, but I found a box of her letters to me when I was cleaning out his house and now we’re, er, trying to find out what happened to her.”

Minutes later, 2D comes in the door with far more items than Murdoc would have ever brought - letters, the pictures, the book, the teddy.

Murdoc takes his mother’s picture in New York and hands it to her, hand quivering. “This is her. Rufina.”

He woman takes one look at the picture and smiles. “Rufina,” she says warmly. “Sweet Rufina. She had to run far, far away...over the sea and farther still.”

“You knew her?” Murdoc asks, heart beat increasing as the possible implications dawn on him. “You knew her…”

“And I know her still. You must be her little boy...not so little anymore, but the skies were right - never in all my years did I think you would ever make it here.” Again she looks at his necklace and then back to the items on the table. “And I see you’ve been following the steps. She always said you were bright.”

“Steps?” His voice is becoming more frantic. “What steps?”

The old woman settles on his teddy bear and picks it up. “Here we are,” she says. “Very clever, that Rufina….” Then she pulls a pair of embroidery scissors out of her apron pocket and aims it at the stitching along the bear’s back.

Murdoc watches in horror before, finally, the word makes it off of his tongue. “...N-No?” At first, it’s uncertain. It’s such a bizarre scene that he wonders briefly whether or not he’s dreaming. But he’s not, and he doesn’t care if he has to yell at a senior citizen - he’s not going to let her destroy something so important to him. “No! Get your hands off that!” He says with more urgency, making a move to grab it away.

“It’s okay, Murdoc, I’ll sew it back up for you when I’m finished.” She holds it out of his reach. “But I think you will be interested in what I find.”

He glares at her, but listens. 2D takes his hand in his, running his thumb softly back and forth along the back of his hand. “It’ll be alright, Muds,” he says and Murdoc tries to believe him.

He keeps his eyes glued to the floor as she cuts, and he tries not to wince when he hears the stitching tear.

“It’s just as I thought,” the woman says.

“Woah. Murdoc, look!” 2D gives his hand a squeeze. “I...I think that’s…”

The woman hands Murdoc two items. One of them is a votive offering just like the one he has around his neck. The other is a picture.

“You’ve been looking for this for a long time…” she says.

And when he musters up the courage to look, it’s as if the rest of the world has stopped. He sees her face, her expression overjoyed like she’d just won the lottery or an Olympic gold medal. Then the pictures stops because the bottom half missing.

But it isn’t missing.

Not taking his eyes off of her, he digs around in his jacket pocket with his free hand until he finds his wallet. And he opens it and finds exactly what he’s looking for in the first flap, shielded successfully from the rain.

It’s him as an infant, sound asleep while two hands hold him. He’s had it all his life. Finally, with his own hands quivering, he takes both of the pictures and fits them together. They fit together perfectly, and he’s struck with a feeling of completion when he looks at her holding him as if he was the most valuable and cherished person in the universe.

 _You were. And you are._ It’s as if she’s there with him, standing right in front of him.

He stares at the picture in his hand through watery eyes. “...Hey, mum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there wasn't as much mom-stuff this time but I'm stopping it mid-scene so it will be what I start with next time! 
> 
> Thank you to sashkash and rael-melancholy on Tumblr for the beautiful story art!
> 
> As always, thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated. Thank you to everyone who has shared their thoughts <3\. Hope everyone has a great weekend!


	13. Chapter 13

For a moment, the picture is the only other object in the world.

His mother looks down at the baby in her arms, smiling. As Murdoc gazes at the picture he feels like he’s struck by the amount of warmth he could feel from two tiny pieces of paper. Someone had loved him. So many before her had convinced him otherwise until he believed he was a person worth hating. It’s a belief he still endorses, one that he doesn’t know how to change. But now he’s finally met her. The picture in his hands is the only piece of evidence he has that any parental figure in his life had ever loved him. But it’s real and it’s his.

Something about seeing her and the way she holds him creates the tiniest of cracks in the protective outer shell he’s spent decades fortifying. It’s small, but the perceives it as a sledgehammer knocking every molecule of air out of his body, and he furiously tries to blink away the moisture from his eyes.

“It’s nice to finally meet you...Murdoc.” Miss Dorothy speaks to him like a long lost grandson. “I didn’t think I ever would.”

Her voice reminds him of where he is. With a loud sniff, he wipes his nose on the sleeve of his jacket and tries to look at the ground casually as he continues to blink. “Yeah…” is all he can muster.

“Murdoc’s had that picture for awhile,” 2D says. “The half of it, that is. He’s had it since we met.” He places a supportive hand on his back and starts to rub. “You should have heard him talk about it, nothing anyone could say could convince him that it was his mum who was holding him. One lady we talked to in London said it was and he still didn’t seem to get it. This is the first we’ve ever seen the full picture.”

“Some part of him must have believed it.” Murdoc can feel her eyes on him.

Murdoc stores the two halves in his pocket, careful to make sure they reach a secure space at the bottom. He doesn’t want to lose either half. “There wasn’t a lot I had to hope for there for awhile. I took what I could get.” It was also the only picture he of himself as a baby.

“It was as she intended.” The woman holds up the teddy bear. “She had your friend  with her in her travel bag when she went to have you meet your father soon after you were born. When you were separated, it was your only belonging she thought to grab.”

The mention of his father causes him to tense, and he wrestles with the knowledge that today might be the day he finally learns what happened. “How...well did you know her?” He finally asks. “Because I haven’t got a clue about anything. For my entire life all I knew was what my father and brother told me...I grew up thinking that she didn’t want me.”

“That sounds like something Sebastian would have told you.”

The mention of his name brings back the familiar pain in his neck. “If that sounds like him then what the fuck was she thinking when she dropped me right at his doorstep?” There was a life he could have had that he had lost, and he doesn’t know who to direct his anger towards. “I could have died. Do you think she thought about that? If it wasn’t for…” 2D’s hand grips his shoulder gently. He trails off.  

“Murdoc...” The woman addresses him, a calmness to her tone. “If she had known the risk at the time she would have never brought you there, but there was much that she did not know. Tell me, what do you know about your father?”

Murdoc is silent. He doesn’t want to talk about _that_ , not in front of a stranger and not even in front of 2D.

“He was a cunt,” 2D states matter-of-factly.

Inside, Murdoc is relieved. “That about sums it up,” he says. Then he adds. “He never talked about her outside of telling me that she was crazy and that she left me…The reasons _why_ she left always changed but he made sure I knew it was always my fault.” It pains him to say it out loud, even with all the proof he’s found stating otherwise he still struggles against those negative beliefs.

She nods. “So...there is much that you do not know either.”

“I don’t know anything!” Murdoc says. “Every bloody letter takes me farther and farther away from where I grew up, yet in every letter she promises to see me soon but she never did, and she probably never will and…” his voice gets quieter. “I can’t quite understand why she’d write that to me if it was never going to be true.”

She examines him closely, and when he follows her gaze he can see it drifting from him to above him, and he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stick up.

_You have a darkness hovering over you. Following you. For years._

“Do... you hear things, Murdoc?” she asks. Feel things? See things that no one else can?”

“Yes!” 2D answers. “He does! And I’d like to help him when it happens, but I never know when it’s happening until he’s halfway out the door.”

Murdoc shifts anxiously in his seat. So they were going to talk about that. He’s rather pretend it wasn’t happening. If he pretended hard enough, maybe it would go away. “Listen, I’ve done...a lot in my life. I’ve huffed, snorted, smoked, injected practically every drug that’s been offered to me. I’ve even been diagnosed with a few things, but who knows how accurate any of that is..every doctor says something different, y’know. Er, for all I know these things  I see and hear could be all of that coming back to bite me in the arse…” He knows that isn’t what’s happening, but he doesn’t want confirmation that he’s doomed.

She seems to read his mind. “You know as well as I do this isn’t quite the same. It’s getting worse isn’t it? Has it shown itself to you yet?”

Flashbacks of their last hotel room resurface in his mind. “...A shadow,” he says. “I saw a large shadow...in our hotel room.”

“So it’s found you.”

“What is ‘it’?” 2D asks. He looks at Murdoc, worried. “How can we get it to leave Murdoc alone?” He moves his hand from his shoulder to his knee.

“You seem to care a lot about Murdoc.”

“Yeah...well...” 2D turns to him, lowering his voice. “Can I tell her?”

Murdoc can’t believe he’s actually trying to bring up their relationship in the middle of a conversation about his curse. “Are you serio -”

“We’re dating,” 2D blurts out.

Murdoc slaps a hand to his forehead in exasperation but doesn’t say anything.

“...And I don’t want anything else bad to happen to him,” he adds and Murdoc feels his heart jump.

The woman is unphased. “None of us want anything bad to happen to the ones we love…”

There it was again. The “l-word.” It makes him nervous. “It’s been one week! I don’t think you can - no, fuck it. This isn’t any of your business!”

She ignores him. “...But it’s one promise we can’t ever hope to keep.”

2D gulps in response and turns his gaze towards Murdoc, an apologetic look on his face. Murdoc doesn’t know if it’s because he brought up their relationship or because he’s just learned he can’t stop bad things from happening to him. Either way, figuring it out wasn’t important right now. This visit was about him and only him. He needs to rally as much energy as he can and focus. “Can you just start from the beginning? Like, how you met, what you know about her...that whole lot.”

“Your mother came to me in need of far more assistance than I could give. She had made a grave mistake and her life was at risk, but she also had you...she didn’t want to leave you. Our goal while she was living here was to close the door she had opened in the Carolinas so that she could return her attention to getting you back from your father. As you can see, we were unsuccessful. Ultimately she had to leave for her own safety. I don’t know what happened to her after that.”

Murdoc looks down at the floor. There were still such large gaps in the story. Was she alive or not? “Door? Door to what?”

“To other worlds, the worlds that we can’t see except in our dreams...”

“I’ve ‘opened doors’ before,” Murdoc challenges. “I’ve talked to bloody Satan himself and closed it back up without a problem. What the hell was she doing?”

The woman laughs. “You talked to Lucifer? Perhaps that’s what you believed at the time but many demons like to play tricks with mortals. Lucifer himself doesn’t just heed the call of any demonic summon or amateur dark magician. Not even the most powerful wizards have been able to summon him let alone convince him to listen to them. It’s far more likely you were talking to a demon pretending to be him. Hopefully you didn’t try to bargain with it.”

Murdoc freezes. He was certain he had talked to Satan. At the same time, he had been very drunk and very desperate. “I did,” he says. _Nothing too important, just my soul._ “But, uh, that’s all in the past now and we’ve, er, talked it out.” As far as he knew, they had left him alone.

“So you dabbled in dark magic as well? That’s very dangerous, Murdoc. Your mother would have been worried to learn that.”

He takes offense at the remark. “Yeah, well I’d tell her it wasn’t something I was doing for shits and giggles,” he snaps. “I hated where I lived. I _hated_ it. Trying to run away never worked, making ‘friends’ never worked, asking other bloody adults for help NEVER worked, not even saving money worked. What, was I just supposed to sit there and wait for her? We see how that would have turned out…I _had_ to leave...I don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t leave...” _But he wouldn’t let me leave. He hated me, but he wouldn’t let me leave._

She nods. “So Sebastian was acting as she expected. I’m sorry.”

As she expected? Murdoc can feel the anger building. How was he supposed to ever fully believe that she loved him if she left him there. “So why the fuck did she leave there!?”

“Your mother and father met on the coast of...” She strokes her chin. “Was it Brazil or Argentina? I don’t know the details. He was traveling by sea as a crewman on a cargo ship.”

His father? Working?

“At the time, you mother was working around the ports. Her family did business at a special market tucked away in the mountains of Peru. But sometimes they would travel to other places to offer their services - folk medicine, counsel. Your grandfather was a respected shaman in the community and was seeking to expand his name. Your mother was not committed to following in his footsteps at the time,  however, having grown up in the Sierra she didn’t get to see the ocean very often. Any trip he took to the coast, she would accompany him. It was the only way for her to meet new people, learn and practice different languages and to explore.”

“Murdoc’s mum traveled across the sea with him later on...she said so in a letter,” 2D chimes in.

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “What  does that have to do with anything?”

“Because I want to know why. Murdoc’s dad left so why didn’t she raise Murdoc on her own?”

He has a point. She could have stayed home. Murdoc wishes terribly that she had.

“I’m sure she would have wanted to...but you were in danger.”

“Danger?” Murdoc is confused. “I was in danger with my father. I’ve been in danger my _entire_ life.”

“No,” she says. “This was far beyond any human danger. Just as your mother got involved with your father’s world, he got involved with hers.”

“What happened?” Murdoc asks, feeling increasingly depressed the more he learns. He wonders if there had ever been a time when he had been safe.

“She didn’t like to talk about it, so I do not know all of the details. From what I remember they met when he stopped by with some other crew members because one of them wanted a coca leaf reading. They started talking and she liked to listen to the stories he had about his travels. He was a great storyteller according to her. It may have masked some of the darkness in him. In return, she gave his friend a list of other shamans in the area in case he should ever seek counsel again. He had to leave the next morning but they stayed in touch and would visit with each other when he was scheduled to return.” She pauses. “I do not believe you were planned, Murdoc. I did not pry too much about her relationship, or how it changed. What I do know is that she told him about you during one of his visits. She was already a few months along and she wanted to keep you. But he didn’t.”

So that was it then. Murdoc lowers his eyes.

“They argued and he left. The last she saw of him that night he was storming down the street, further out into the countryside. She didn’t stop him, and she didn’t see him again after that. However, word soon got to her that strange things were happening in the town - unexplainable things - reports of shadow sightings, small farm animals disappearing. Soon, she started seeing the shadow, too. She left town, but it was still there, in the corner of her eye. Her father didn’t know where it came from, only that it must have been summoned through some some kind of blood ritual and that it wanted something from her. That’s when she knew.”

“How are you doing?” 2D whispers to him. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” he says. “...but this is quite a bit of information and I don’t know how he’s taking it.”

Beside him, Murdoc feels like he’s going to be sick. He wants to leave but he isn’t sure he can move. He also knows that this is at least part of what he had been looking for, and he needs to know the full story. How else could he hope to get the thing following him now to leave him alone? “I’m...fine,” he says quietly. Still, he reaches his hand over to where 2D’s hand rests on his knee and holds it.

“She knew whatever it was had to be connected to your father. So she went to him. Did your father ever tell you what happened after she arrived?” that the old woman asks.

Murdoc shakes his head. “Only that she was crazy.”

“That’s what he told the police as well. And it could be she appeared that way. England was very different from the rural towns in the mountains that she was used to and the journey was long. I’m certain she was overwhelmed. He painted her as unstable, homeless and unable to care for herself. She was still asking him about the ritual, talking about spirits and curses…” She pauses. “It did not go over well with the police and when she could not provide a home address she lost custody of you. Once your father had you, he was free to do whatever he wanted.”

“So why didn’t he just kill me?” The words sound harsh but it’s one of the only questions that registers. It certainly would have made his life easier if he had just died right at the beginning. He would have never turned into who he was today. He wouldn’t have had to feel so awful every time he woke up in morning. He wouldn’t have had to struggle to function...he would have had to humiliate himself every time 2D wanted to be close. He could have just died and then whoever it was who determined the course of one’s life could have sent him back down to earth for a re-do later.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Your mother didn’t know either. Only he knew. And I think he liked it that way, knowing how frantic it made her. I want you to know, Murdoc, how much she wanted you with her. I know you doubt this and I know she made some mistakes but they were all in pursuit of getting you back. It hurt her to wake up each morning knowing it was her decision that led to losing you.”  She looks at Murdoc’s pocket. “That picture of yours...it wasn’t just a means of connection your mother used. It was also the only known picture of both of you together at the time and exactly what your father may have needed.”

Murdoc furrows his brow as he tries to piece the information together. “So…”

“So she ripped it in half on purpose. Magic in that region often requires a picture of the intended targets. She may not have know what entity it was, but she knew something was after the two of you and that she was in possession of the only picture of both of you together. By ripping it, she made it impossible for whatever ritual it was to be completed had he wanted to.”

Memories of his father ransacking his room resurface. At the time, Murdoc had thought it was just another way he liked to terrorize him. Now, it made more sense. “So it’s still after me. Whatever it is. And I have to stop it. What does it want?”

“I can’t say for sure...but you say your father passed? Was it recent?”

He shifts again. “...Just last month.”

“I see. It could be that he is the one who’s after you now, but I can’t be certain.” She stops. “You also say you visited her home in North Carolina...it could be that it found you there.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “When she was here, she was unable to close the portal she had opened in that house. Up until that point, she was only working with healing and protective magic.” She motions towards the grimoire on the table. “However, she had no way of knowing if any of her efforts were helping you.”

There wasn’t one day in his life Murdoc can remember ever feeling protected. “They weren’t,” he says flatly. 

“They don’t protect you from other humans, Murdoc...but this entity; it never found you.”

“I’m starting to wish it had.”

He can feel 2D’s eyes on him. He doesn’t dare look at him. “She knew what was happening to you, Murdoc. Perhaps not all the details but she knew Sebastian was out of work when she went to meet him, and she knew he had always been a heavy drinker. That’s why she had gotten so desperate. Up until that point, she was having trouble saving money to travel back to England let alone afford her own place for you. She didn’t know when she would be able to find you again...she tried to place a curse on him...she was trying to kill him...but the magic was too advanced for her or the coven she was working with and they had to flee. That’s when she came to me.”

“But that was a colossal failure too,” Murdoc grumbles.

“We tried our best. That was when she decided she would leave trail for you...I won’t lie to you, Murdoc, but even then she was not sure she would ever be able to return to you on her own. This way, there would be a chance that you could find her.  She had these metal chimes like the one you’re wearing now so we decided to use those.” She smiles. “And by some miraculous turn of fate, here you are.”

Her smile tells him he should be happy, but instead he can feel his heart sinking in his chest. “What’s the point of it then? For all I know she’s dead.”

The woman nods. “There are some things you won’t ever know until you seek them out and see for yourself. But at the time I knew her the plan was not put in place solely so you could meet her. This curse...you want it to go away, do you not?”

“Yes,” 2D answers for him. “We do.”

“Then I would trust that she has laid out the steps as she planned.”

As much as he aches to know everything about her, to meet her, he isn’t sure how much more he can bear to learn. “I don’t see why I’d have to follow them,” he says. “This whole ‘soul stealing’ thing is right in my area of expertise. I’ve had nearly every demon in hell after my soul at one point or another.” There had to be a shortcut, right? And he would find it.

2D nods. “We deal a lot with that sort of thing.”

The woman laughs. “Soul? You think this entity wants your soul?”

The words head Murdoc’s brief moment of bravado off before it can even begin. It takes all he has to hold his posture and not sink back into his seat.

“Murdoc,” the woman says. “Whatever this entity is, what it wants is your life. Your blood. And it is going to do anything it can to get it whether it’s through an external force or your own hand. Your father has taken the secrets of this curse to his grave and we don’t know what fate befell your mother...all that’s left is you.”

It’s at that moment that something inside of him snaps and he storms out of the trailer slamming the door as he goes.

The land is still damp with rainwater, the sky still grey with clouds threatening to soak the earth even more. His boots sink into the mud squelch after squelch as he walks towards the river. Each step feels heavier than the last. When he’s mere feet away from the river he gives up and sits on the soggy ground.

There were many decision he had made that he hated himself for but answering his brother’s phone call is quickly making its way to the top of that list.

_But what about the good things? 2D, Your mum…_

They paled in comparison to the hopelessness he was feeling. He doesn’t know how long his relationship with 2D will last. He doesn’t know if his mother is alive. He doesn’t know if he can stop this entity from killing him.

_What would she think when she saw who you grew up to be?_

He can’t think about it any longer and hugs his knees to his chest, burying his head in his arms. Then he waits. Maybe it would rain again and the river would flood and sweep him away, maybe the ghost would find him. He allows his thoughts to race like this until he loses track of how long he’s been sitting there.

The sloshing sound of footsteps behind him pull him out of his ruminations.

“Murdoc,” 2D says.

He doesn’t bother lifting his head up. “What?”

“You should come back inside or back to the car...or somewhere other than here. It could start raining again.”

“I don’t care.”

He hears the footsteps come closer and he can sense 2D crouching down beside him. A hand rests on his back, its warmth alerting him to how cold he is.

Then come the words. His words.

“I’m nothing like her,” he says, voice quivering. “Maybe I look like her but that where it ends. I don’t know her.” He twists the fabric of his jeans in his hand. “I don’t trust that I could have pointed Peru out on a map to you before all of this started...I look like someone I’m not...It’s all gone. Every possible connection I could have had to her or to the part of myself was gone before I could think to hold onto it. How can I fix something when I haven’t got a clue what it is I’m fighting against? Even if by some miracle I come out of this and find her...what the hell could she possibly find worth knowing about me?”

2D doesn’t say anything but instead starts to rub his back in an attempt to comfort him.

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Murdoc says. “I’m…” he pauses. “...scared.”

For awhile all there is is silence as his words hang in the air. Murdoc shivers as a gust of wind from the river hits them, watching as the sleeve of his jacket flaps about. Then he hears 2D say, voice barely audible. “I am, too.” Then he says it louder. “I am, too, Muds...I’m scared for you...I’m scared that I won’t be able to help you as much as you need...but we can’t go back now.”

He was right. Even if he wanted to turn back or try to forget it would still follow him. It could follow him his entire life if he could outwit it that long. But he doesn’t want to do this for the rest of his life when he’s barely managed the past few days. “...I know,” he says.

“And you never know,” 2D says, sounding more hopeful. “Maybe we’ll get to meet her.”

Murdoc buries his head again, not wanting him to see whatever pained expression he’s certain must be on his face.

“And she would be so happy to meet you, no matter who you are,” 2D says. “Remember she did all of this to watch out for you so you would survive. How chuffed do you think she would be to see that all her hard work paid off?”

It doesn’t make him feel better in the slightest, but he’d never thought to look at it from the perspective 2D is sharing. “You really have a knack for making situations sound infinitely better than they actually are,” he says. “Anyone ever tell you that?”

“I’ve had some time to practice.” 2D pats his shoulder. “But, uh, what do you think about heading back? We don’t have to go back inside if you don’t want to...I talked to Miss Dorothy a bit after you left and she gave me some directions about this curse thing. She also sewed up your teddy bear.”

He doesn’t want to go back. But refusing would mean relying on 2D for the next steps. It’s another minute of silence and staring at the water before he decides. “I’ll say goodbye to her...I guess.”

She has an entire new box of items for him on the coffee table once they reach the trailer. Inside is his bear along with some dried pouched of herbs, a book on demonology, an assortment of bones and another journal with a raven on it. “You must keep as many of her belongings close to you as you can,” she says, placing a hand on the bear. “This one especially. I suspect she followed through on her promise and the letters you have are a trail to her or to the answers you need to dispel the curse. These items with the charms are likely important. Find them and keep them.”

Hesitant, Murdoc lifts the box off the table. He stares at the bones. “Are...those...?” The thought  unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

“Yes. Your mother had an interest in bone divination. Some of those rituals involved the bones of humans,” she says. “But not all of them. You’re boyfriend was telling me you met a raven?”

Murdoc can feel his cheeks redden at the use of the word _boyfriend_. But she wasn’t wrong in her labeling. 2D was his boyfriend. It feels so strange to apply such a term to him, yet comforting. “Yeah… a few times actually. It practically poked 2D’s eyes out the other day.”

“But we made up,” 2D adds. “I’m very likeable.”

The woman chuckles. “Well, you may be meeting him more frequently now. Your mother loved birds, ravens especially...so do not worry. They are friends...And they can come in handy when you least expect it.”

“It...er, I mean he talked to me,” Murdoc says. “Not the most patient bloke either. He practically chased us out of the woods on our way here.”

“I would heed his call,” she says. “They say ravens are harbingers of death, birds of omen and prophecy and guides in the otherworld. The messages he brings you are important...and now you’re communication with him will be stronger.”

So if he saw it, then it meant something bad was close. Murdoc pales at the thought, stomach turning.

“I see in your face that you want to give up,” she says. “Know that you giving up would be exactly what this shadow following you wants. Don’t allow it to cloud your thoughts or drive you mad. There is hope out there, Murdoc.”

“Can we call you if we have questions?” 2D asks.

She shakes her head. “I don’t think you will. Even if I said yes, we don’t have a phone here.”

It’s then that Murdoc can feel the hairs on his neck stand up again and he doesn’t think it’s just because he’s chilly. “Are...you real?” he asks, voice quiet.

She smiles at him, a knowing look of her face. “Oh, Murdoc,” she says. “You’re just as she always said. Very bright…”

“Hey!” The man who greeted them earlier enters the room. “You’ve been here way past closing time. It’s time to pay up.”

“It’s okay, Warren,” she says. “Murdoc here is an old friend.”

2D gives him and then her a puzzled look. Murdoc only gulps.

“But I think it’s best you two get going. You have a lot of work to do.”

“Right,” Murdoc says. He’s freezing cold now and still unsettled. “Right...we’re going now.” And with that he turns and walk quickly out the door, 2D following close behind.

“Thank you for your help!” 2D says with a wave.

Murdoc notices the temperature change as soon as they’re outside.

“She was nice,” 2D says. “What do you think she meant when she said you were an old friend?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to know...I wish I didn’t have to know,” Murdoc says as he unlocks the door. Were they both stuck in some sort of hallucination? Was he going to wake up one morning and realize he had never left Detroit? He can’t make sense of it. He can hardly process what he’s learned about his mother let alone what he could expect to find at future addresses.

His stomach is hurting badly now, and he’s hardly in the car before he has to lean out and retch until the contents of his stomach are emptied on the muddy ground in front of him. 2D, thankfully doesn’t say anything but instead waits as he grips the door and breathes. When he’s ready, he wipes his brow and sits up straight in the driver’s seat. He sticks the key in the ignition, exhaling as the engine starts. “I need a drink right now,” he says. “We’re stopping at the first liquor place I see. And that’s not up for debate.”

2D doesn’t debate.

* * *

 

The rest of the drive back into New Orleans is, with the exception of the radio, quiet.

Murdoc has half a mind to keep driving until they’re as far away from the trailer as possible. Whatever was following him couldn’t be too far behind at this point, and he doesn’t know how safe it is to stay in the same city.

 _Why are you even trying?_ He thinks to himself. _Just lie down and let it get you. Close your eyes. Rest._ Remembering the old woman’s words, he does his best to push the thoughts away. He couldn’t let them take over, not when he was no longer sure if they were really his.

They find a liquor store closer in the city and stop for dinner at a food truck serving local cuisine in City Park. Murdoc brings along his newly purchased vodka and they swiftly take a seat at one of the tables outside of a random lakefront restaurant despite not being customers.

“Do you think they’ll notice?” 2D asks.

Murdoc shrugs. “Does it matter? If it’s a problem then we’ll order some of their sodding…” he takes a quick glance at the menu. “...Beignets.” He’s pleasantly surprised and considers ordering them anyways.

It seems to pique 2D’s interest as well. “Beignets?” He says. “...Can we order them anyways?”

“Might as well,” Murdoc says. “Gotta get as much out of this life as I can before I kick the bucket.”

“You aren’t going to kick the bucket,” 2D responds as he flags down a server. “I’m not going to allow that to happen and neither are you.”

Murdoc grunts.

“So, uh, I guess we’re officially on a quest,” 2D says as they wait. His voice is cheery in a way that tells Murdoc he’s trying to lighten the mood while also trying to trick Murdoc into talking about his feelings. “Just the two of us.”

“I guess you could call it that.” He isn’t going to fall for any of it.

2D grins. “I’m Sam and you’re Frodo.”

Murdoc takes a drink of vodka and glowers at him. “Terrible comparison.”

“What do you mean? Are you trying to say I’m Frodo and _you’re_ Sam? Because if you are I disagree.”

“ _No_. I’m saying that it’s a terrible comparison.” It’s invalidating, in a way. Murdoc suspects that it isn’t 2D’s intent. However, comparing his life to a silly children’s story only cements his conclusion that 2D doesn’t grasp the true gravity of the his situation or how it's affecting him.

“What do you know?” 2D replies. “You didn’t even watch the movies with us.”

“You rented all three extended editions. Of course I fucking didn’t. That’s an entire bloody day!” 

“Yeah, and that day was _my_ birthday,” 2D reminds him. “We all cleared our entire schedule but all of sudden you were ‘busy.’”

“Because I had better things to do.” He remembers spending the day in Winnebago drinking rum, jacking off and throwing darts at the wall.

“Alright, but my point is that I’m the one who knows who’s Frodo and who’s Sam the best. And I say you’re Frodo and I’m Sam.”

 _“No,_ I’m _not.”_

2D taps his chin in thought. “Hmm. You know what? Maybe you’re right. I’ve got it all wrong. You’re Jon Snow and I’m Samwell...then again I think I’m a lot cooler than Samwell.”

“I’m not anyone!” Murdoc snaps. “Alright? And I’m definitely no fucking hero from some nonsensical fairy tale.” He looks down at his plate and half-eaten sandwich. “I’m…” He feels like he’s back at the beginning where his words fail. “...You know. You’ve been following me long enough...You think I don’t know how unpleasant I am or how much everyone bloody hates me?” It’s getting more difficult to speak so he stops, gripping the bottle in his hand.

“Do you think that there’s nothing good about you?” 2D asks.

“I...I don’t know but...I know I’m not good.”

“When?” 2D’s gaze is intense. Murdoc feels like and ant under a magnifying glass. “When did you start feeling like that?”

Murdoc keeps his eyes on the lake just feet away from them. It’s late and the restaurant isn’t very crowded. Still, he doesn’t know if he has the control to tell 2D about that part of him. But he needs the singer’s help, he knows that more than ever now. 2D couldn’t help him if he didn’t know at least some of it.

“I was young,” he says. But the moment the words roll off his tongue he starts to feel sick again. “I…” Even in his damp clothes he feels sweaty an agitated. He can’t do it. “Can we leave?” he asks. The beignets would have to wait.

2D’s face falls, but he doesn’t argue. “Oh...oh okay.”

Murdoc knows what he’s thinking. “We can still talk,” he says. “But I can’t do it here.”

“I get it, Muds,” 2D says. “...It’s been a long day.”

Murdoc takes gulps from his vodka bottle at every red light the get on the drive to the hotel. But once they get check into the room the restless feeling returns.

The room is small and he can hear other guests moving around in the rooms next to them.

“I need to take a walk,” he mutters as he digs for his flask. It’s getting late and he’s tired but he can’t focus. His mind jumps from his mother to his father to his search to what his father did that night he walked out on his mother to the shadow that’s following him. He doesn’t know how he’s going to be able to relax. Doubt lingers in all of his thoughts.

He looks at 2D, waiting hopefully across the room. “Fine,” he says. “You can come too.”

They walk down the less populated alleyways of the city, away from the bars and restaurants. The steeply-pitched roofs and brightly painted walls of the Creole cottages and gallery homes they pass have a strange aura. They probably looked perfectly inviting and festive during the day, but in the dim streetlight they look abandoned and lonely.

“It’s really pretty here,” 2D muses as they pass a street busker playing a forlorn cover of “The House of the Rising Sun,” on the French horn. “When this is all over we should come back. Maybe we could bring your mum.”

Instinctively, Murdoc stops to toss some money in the open instrument case and gives a small nod when the busker thanks him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he mutters to 2D.

“I still have a feeling she’s out there.”

“You don’t know that and neither do I.”

“I know. But why would her raven be alive if she wasn’t?”

“By all rules of the universe that bird should be dead too.” He takes a drink. He wants to believe she’s alive but what he learned today already makes him feel like he’s lost her. No sooner had he met her had he lost her. “I...I think...I miss her.” He can feel his throat tightening. “As mental as that sounds. Learning all of that about her today...It made it feel like she died...I think. It’s like there’s a part of me that’s been torn out and my world’s changed.” The truth was, he doesn’t know. “Can you miss someone you’ve never met? Is this anything like what losing a parent...a _real_ parent, feels like?”

2D is silent as he considers the question. “When my dad died I didn’t know what to do. What I think made me most depressed was watching him fade away like…he declined to the point where he could hardly recognize me anymore or do anything for himself - he couldn’t eat, stand up or hold a conversation. He was a swell dad - he let me play with the tools in his toolbox, let me ride the Ferris wheel on the fairgrounds after it was closed. I learned about the mechanics of instruments from him...but once he got sick enough he was physically there, but really, everything that made him _him_ was gone. By then, we were waiting for it to all be over.”

Murdoc remembers 2D flying home for the funeral, but not much else. At the time, he couldn’t understand why 2D needed any time off from promoting their music and he had made sure to let 2D know that even as he packed to leave. 

“I can’t really explain it but...yeah…” 2D continues. “it’s like your life turns into a kaleidoscope after it’s all shaken up. At first it’s in this nice looking design and then it gets all mucked up until you can hardly recognize it anymore. What made it worse was not knowing how to console my mum but also wanting her to console me, you know? I needed so much from her but I worried about what she needed from me.” He sighs. “It’s still hard to think about.”

Murdoc doesn’t know what to say.

“I miss him, too,” 2D says. “But my therapist said that the sadness we feel after a loss is evidence of how meaningful the person and that relationship was to us. So instead of always being sad I try to be grateful that I ever got know him.”

It’s at that point that Murdoc stops walking.

“Murdoc?” 2D stops with him, puzzled.

Murdoc looks away. He wishes he didn’t have to stop but he feels overcome with all sorts of emotions.

2D understands immediately. “Do...you want to cry?”

“No,” Murdoc says, voice quivering. “I _don’t_.”

“It’s okay if you want to.”

“But I don’t.” He blinks furiously.

“We can walk over into these bushes over here and no one will see…”

“I’m fine!” He nearly yells. Good, anger. He can feel the wave of tears that had been threatening him subside, and he waits quietly until he’s composed himself. “It’s just...not something I ever knew.”

2D nods and waits for him to continue.

“I...think the first time I got completely plastered I was about nine…” Murdoc says.

“ _Nine?_ ” 2D’s response is far from graceful and it only makes Murdoc more embarrassed.

“Yes, ‘nine,’” Murdoc replies mockingly.  Then he starts walking faster away from him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way,” 2D says as he catches up with him. “I just haven’t even heard of anyone drinking that young. My mum let me try her wine at that age but I thought it was gross.”

As he walks, Murdoc doesn’t have an exact destination. There was no place where he would ever feel comfortable sharing what he’s about to share. If he’s being honest with himself, he doesn’t want to tell 2D any of it either. But has to. It had been over twenty years and he has to. “It probably wasn’t a habit until I was twelve,” he says. “When I started...noticing things about me...didn’t work right.”

“What do you mean?”

“How you see me now...all jittery and jumpy. It started getting real shit for me when I was twelve.” He sighs. “I punched one of my teachers in the face for tapping me on the shoulder.”

“Oh, ouch. That teacher must have been angry.”

“You think? I was expelled.” He takes a drink from his flask. “Not that I would have been going to school any of the following days anyways. My dad made sure I paid for that one.” That had been his first hospital visit. The memory of not being able to raise his left arm over his head without excruciating pain comes to mind, and then the poking and prodding from the doctor’s hours later only felt more threatening. He never told them anything. “What I’m trying to say is…” he drinks again because his heart is pounding. “I hated having people near me, especially when I couldn’t see them.”

2D has a sad look in his eyes. “That probably happened a lot, didn’t it?”

“Well so much of what would set me off was so bloody normal it was unavoidable. I could stand people trying to surprise me, I’d tell them to ‘fuck off’ if they made any sort of contact with me, even if it wasn’t intentional...”

“That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

“It wasn’t. It _isn’t._..Do you think it’s fun existing like that, thinking everyone is out to fuck with you?” He sniffs. “...But I had to be.” He has to pause there as his mind is flooded with images and sensations. It occurs to him that continuing to speak may send him into another panic, so he drinks again and waits until he can feel the alcohol settling in his gut before he resumes his train of thoughts. “I never knew what kind of mood he’d be in when I got home and I never knew how his mood would change over the course of me being there. He’d grab me a lot...drag me around by my hair or my neck before he’d do what he was planning to do to me that day. Sometimes he was angry and other times he’d be laughing like it was a joke. Sounds hilarious, right?”

“No,” 2D says. “It doesn’t.”

“...Eventually I couldn’t take it.”

“Did anyone ever notice? Like teacher or another adult?”

“That sort of thing wasn’t talked about much back then. The few times I tried to run away my neighbors would always call the police and...and after the found me and took me home...then it was bad. So I stopped.” Never has he shared any of these stories out loud, and he can tell that his mind and body still have no idea how to react to the sudden lengthy disclosure. He feels dizzy as he speaks.

“You...don’t have to tell me all of this if you don’t want to,” 2D says. “It doesn’t look like this is helping you and I feel bad that I ever pushed.”

“No,” Murdoc disagrees even though he knows 2D is right. Speaking about it aloud is unsettling him in a way that he can’t quite understand, but he can’t stand to continue looking so weak in front of him. “S-so in the end...I was so nervous and agitated all the time...it was misery. Those stupid breathing techniques I learned from the school counselor were shit. But what _did_ work, and what was never in short supply in the Niccals household was…” he holds ups his flask. “This.”

“But…” 2D begins.

“I know, I know, ‘it doesn’t make your problems go away’; ‘it’s self-medicating.’” But you know what it does do? It helps me. Maybe it didn’t stop him or anyone else from doing what they did but at least it gave me a choice of how I wanted to go through it. I know you and the rest of them think it doesn’t make sense but it’s always given me a sense of control.” If he had endured all the injuries and emotions sober he feels certain he would have killed himself by now. “Then...somewhere along the way the me that was drunk just became...me. This is the most ‘sober’ I’ve been, if you can even call it that, in decades. And...it’s fucking _hard,_ okay?” His voice shakes. “...Because without it, who I really am is so obvious to me. If you haven’t figured it out, I haven’t changed much...since I was twelve…” he takes a nervous glance ad 2D and looks away. 

He’s lost track of where they’re walking. Thankfully, the streets have only gotten emptier so he doesn’t have to worry about too many people overhearing them. Somewhere in the distance, he hears the soft strumming of a guitar.

“Murdoc,” 2D says softly. “I’ll be honest...it’ll always feel like shit to me when you pull away...and some of that is because of my own self-esteem, uh...issues, not because of you. I know you might not believe me, but I’m okay with working with you on...everything until maybe one day...we’re both okay.”

Murdoc slows his pace and takes another long drink. He hopes the concoction he has in there will start to have more of an effect soon. “What if…” he stops and looks at 2D and wonders if he can see the hopelessness on his face. “...that day never comes?”

2D takes a few steps towards him and takes his hand in his. “I don’t know...but I try not to think of it that way. This sort of change you’re asking for doesn’t happen overnight...it can take awhile...but on the other hand, it can also change with you hardly noticing. Who knows which one it will be for you.”

Murdoc leans in closer to him until his face is buried in his shoulder. He tenses and relaxes as he feels 2D hand rest on his back to hold him there. It was nice having someone to, quite literally, lean on when everything around him seems so heavy. And for a brief moment, he feels like he can believe him. “You think? Because right now I wish I could just lie down and let it be over.”

He feels 2D pull him closer upon hearing those words. “Well you can’t do that. Not when your mum’s still out there and not when I’ve finally reached you...I think. You, uh, want to know what my therapist said?”

Murdoc shifts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “What did she say?” He humors him.

“She said that sometimes you need to find a way to alleviate as many stressors that you can before you can focus on the tougher stuff. If our basic needs aren’t being met it can be very difficult to put effort into other coping skills or making significant changes. So that’s what needs to be addressed first. And that’s what we’re doing. We’re going on a quest to alleviate one big stressor that’s threatening your biggest basic need of all - your life.”

“I don’t think...that’s exactly what a ‘basic need’ is.” He knows what 2D means but he can’t help himself.

“Yes it is. What is it? Mav - no - Pavlov’s Hierarchy of Needs. Yeah. That’s it.”

“That...sounds completely wrong.”

“What I’m saying is that we have to focus on the biggest problems first. And that’s-”

“The evil ghost that’s trying to kill me.”

“Yeah.” 2D separates from him gives his hand a small tug as he begins walking further down the street. “And once we get rid of that then we’ll have a chance to figure out if that day will ever come.”

Murdoc sighs but allows him to guide him. He doesn’t have the energy to worry about people seeing them walking down the street holding hands. “If we even get that far.” If he was going to die anyways, what did it matter?

“We’ve done this before,” 2D says. “You said so yourself at Miss Dorothy’s today.”

“Yeah, and she told me my experience was shit,” he says. “And...I don’t know that she’s wrong. I was on acid the time I summoned one of them...maybe it wasn’t even there.” 

“But you knew it well enough to set up the ritual. And we have more of your mum’s belongings and her bird friend now…”

“Oh wow, that makes me feel so much better.”

The guitar music is getting louder as they walk, and Murdoc stops again once he notices the musician playing just a few feet away. This time, he’s the one to tug 2D towards the music. He doesn’t recognize the song this time, but the feeling of camaraderie is undeniable as he watches him slide from chord to chord. The sight reminds him of how much he misses his bass. He misses the grand piano in his room, too, and he misses sitting in his room and writing. Rooting around in his pockets, he drops what coins and dollars he can find into the the guitar case lying open on the ground.

“Thanks, dude,” The guitarist says.

“Not a problem,” Murdoc says and turns to walk away. But 2D doesn’t walk with him. When he looks back to ask him what’s taking him so long, he sees a pensive expression on the singer’s face as he looks down at the guitar case and then back to Murdoc. It’s then that it dawns on him. “No,” he whispers harshly.

“But no one’s around,” 2D says. “It’ll just be us…”

“And this random stranger!”

“Excuse me,” 2D asks the busker. “Do you take requests?”

“Uh...yeah.”

2D’s face brightens. “That’s good! Because my….” he pauses and glances at Murdoc nervously. “My boy…” he pauses again.

Murdoc slaps his free hand to his face. “I don’t care. Just say it.”

“My boyfriend here is having a bad day and...well...I’d like to try and cheer him up...if he’ll let me.” He aims his grin at Murdoc who responds with a weary, resigned nod. “Hey, Muds do you remember the first day we met? Like, really met?”

“We were just talking about it the other day. Of course I do.” Truthfully, even if they hadn’t had that conversation he doesn’t think he could ever forget that day. In his chest, his heart skips.

“It was a lot like this,” 2D says. “Minus all the, uh, sharing and monster stuff but it being the two of us spending time together, just being two blokes drinking and singing. I like to go back to that night.”

Murdoc does too. He would give anything to return to that moment and stay there, no curses, no parents, no going home the next morning or moving forward at all. Just himself and 2D singing on the street forever.

2D starts to hum. It’s barely audible at first, but Murdoc would recognize it anywhere.

“Ohhh,” the guitarist says. “The Beatles.”

“Do you know it?” 2D asks. “Can you play it?”

“‘Hey Jude?’ That’s a classic. You bet I can.”

“He doesn’t have to play it,” Murdoc says. “I’m sure this is really bloody weird for him.”

“Nah,” he says. “I take requests all the time. And if you guys want to do some PDA, that’s chill, too. I even had a couple propose in front of me last week. This is America, you know, it’s a free country.” He points to 2D. “Just tell me when.”

“Well...” 2D looks at Murdoc. “What do you say…?”

It’s just the three of them on the sidewalk. The closest people are blocks away. Murdoc would be 2D’s only audience this time. It was a sort of intimacy he isn’t so used to. “Just..don’t drag it out too,” he mutters.

“That means ‘yes,’” 2D says.

The guitarist readies his pick. “One ‘Hey Jude’ coming right up.”

And for awhile, they listen to the chords, absorbed in their own thoughts. Slowly, Murdoc can feel some of his nerves settling as he focuses on the chords and the warmth of 2D’s hand in his. 2D starts humming again. When he musters the energy to meet the others gaze, he’s greeted by soft eyes.

 _“Hey Jude,”_ 2D begins to sing to him softly, swaying their hands along to the music. _“Don't be afraid. You were made to go out and get her…”_ He pulls on his hand as if to coax him closer. Murdoc is far too transfixed for this but he when 2D moves to face him, he allows him to take his other hand.

_“The minute you let her under your skin…then you begin to make it better.”_

There was something about the way 2D sings to him that allows him the rest he’s so desperately needed. All he can focus on is his voice, its sincerity, its kindness. It isn’t like last time when they were joking and inviting along anyone who wanted to join.

_“And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain. Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.”_

This time is different. This time, 2D is singing directly to him and only him as if he’s the only other person in the world.

 _“For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool, by making his world a little colder...Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah nah.”_ 2D’s voice cracks as he reaches the final few ‘nahs.’ “Oh wow...I forgot how high that went.” He turns to the busker. “But don’t stop playing...I’ll jump back in, uh...in a sec.”

Murdoc snorts in response. “It sneaks up on you, huh?” He can feel his shoulders relax more.

“It’s been a couple decades...my voice isn’t like it was when I was twenty...so, uh...where was I?” 2D clears his throat and refocuses on Murdoc. _“Hey Jude, don't make it bad. Take a sad song and make it better…”_

It isn’t the exact place he left off, but Murdoc doesn’t care.

 _“Remember to let her under your skin...then you'll begin to make it...better, better, better…”_ he keeps his voice at the same volume as he climbs the scale.

 _“Better, better, better…”_ 2D pauses there, affection in his eyes as he gazes at him. Murdoc wonders is he’s just as transfixed as he is as he waits for the final note, heart rate increasing in anticipation.

“ _Wahhhh!”_ 2D finally sings. But it’s a far cry from the official recording or the way 2D sang it when they were younger. At the low volume he’s singing it comes out sounding like a baby lion roar.

It’s then that Murdoc loses it and laughs. Moments later, 2D is laughing with him, leaning into him until Murdoc can’t help but release his hands and embrace him.

 _“Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah,”_ 2D continues though his laughter as he wraps his arms around his waist. _“Nah nah nah nah, hey Jude...”_ He starts to sway and soon they’re moving in some sort of clumsy slow dance together.

“ _Nah nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah nah, hey Jude,”_ he sings. “Come on, Muds…” He encourages jokingly. “You know these words...”

Murdoc is still lost in the absurdity of it all and his own reaction of not caring how ridiculous they look. He doesn’t know how 2D pulled it out of him, but for those precious minutes, he forgets. He laughs again, but joins in anyways between his own chuckles.

They sing together for a few lines before 2D breaks off to ad lib over Murdoc.

 _Look, I won't say it again: I saved your life. You owe me your soul!_ He hears his old self saying during one of their early interviews. But as he rests his head against 2D’s shoulder for the second time that night, half-laughing, half-singing, and as he leans into his embrace and the endearment in his voice as he sings with him the reality has never been so clear. It had been 2D who saved his life all along.

“Now let’s get out the lighters,” 2D says, removing one of his hands from his waist. “And wave them like we’re at a concert.”

Murdoc has to catch his breath before he answers. “It’s alright,” he says, listening as the music plays on and his cheeks begin to ache from his own laughter. He wonders if 2D knows how much he’s done for him just in the past ten minutes. “It’s alright,” he says again, unable to hide his grin. “...Can’t right now.”

“Well I think we’ve done it,” he hears 2D tell the busker. “I think we cheered him up.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Murdoc can see that a few people have stopped to watch. He doesn’t care.

“Here you go,” 2D says, digging around in his pocket and tossing a couple of crumpled twenty dollar bills into the busker’s guitar case. “Thank you for all your help.” He turns back to Murdoc, smiling.

“Not a problem, man.”

2D’s face is so close to his, but it isn’t threatening like it was that night in North Carolina. Murdoc isn’t sure he can remember ever feeling so comfortable with someone so close to his face for no other reason than to simply be there. Impulsively, he leans forward and presses his lips to his in a quick kiss. The people watching them could have that as their grand finale. “I don’t know about you but I’d say I’m about ready to head back for the night,” he murmurs, staring directly at him.

“Oh...alright.” 2D studies his face momentarily. Then he gets it. “I am too,” he says, pulling out his phone. “I, uh, just have to figure out where we are…”

“And we should stop,” Murdoc interjects. “At a...place.” It finally occurs to him to walk out of earshot of the rest of the small crowd. 2D follows. “We need lube,” he says once they’re far enough away.

“And, uh, condoms,” 2D adds. “And maybe some other stuff depending on what you want to do and what I want to do...but I’m okay with whatever you want to do, I just think we should talk and-”

“2D…” Murdoc sighs. “Just find a...I don’t know, a Target or whatever and we’ll figure it out from there.”

Conveniently, there’s a place just two blocks away from their hotel. It doesn’t take long for Murdoc to realize it’s easier to allow 2D to buy whatever comes to his mind without discussion. Using that approach makes the trip significantly shorter than it could have been, and before long, they’re back in their room.

Murdoc wastes no time pressing his body against 2D’s before he’s even put their bags down. “So,” he says. “Where were we?” He hears the bags drop to the floor with a dull thud.

“Okay…” 2D says, hands quivering ever so slightly as they move to rest on Murdoc’s shoulders. “We were here...like this.” And he leans down to kiss him briefly before stopping to add. “And then we got to the part where I said we should talk.”

“About _what_ exactly?” Murdoc says, exasperated.

“About how we want to do this,” 2D says. “So, uh, were you planning to, uh...involve, uh…”

“The arse?” Murdoc says bluntly. “Are you asking which one of us want to take it up the arse tonight?”

“Okay,” 2D nods. “So...we’re doing that...then...yes.”

Murdoc sighs. So they were going to have the conversation now. “Have you ever been on, let’s call it...the receiving end of things?”

“A couple times, yeah,” 2D says. “It was good...Different, but I liked it. Have you?”

“Of course I have,” Murdoc says. “It’s great when the person knows what they’re doing.”

His words seem to strike a sudden wave of confidence in 2D. “Then let me.” He stares directly into his eyes. “I’ll treat you just like one of my groupies.”

“Your what?!”

“No, I don’t mean it that way,” 2D says. “What I’m saying is everyone who’s ever slept with me has told me how good I am with my hands and how attentive I am. _I know what I’m doing_ .” He presses back against him. “And I’d like to show you.” 

The increased contact sends a jolt through Murdoc’s body. He can’t put it off any longer and kisses him, deeply this time.

“Is that a yes?” 2D asks.

“Well we have to get on with it at some point.” Murdoc takes a moment to scan the room, eyes landing on his bottle of vodka from earlier that day.

2D gives him one of the biggest grins he’s seen yet and kisses the top of his head. “So how about you get ready and...uh, I will too.”

“Finally,” he says. When 2D isn’t looking, he grabs the alcohol before he slips into the bathroom. Besides some of his own preparation in the shower, he spends most of the time sitting on the flooring drinking. As much as he wants 2D, the realization of what they’re about to do brings with it another wave of nerves. _You’re used to this,_ he tells himself. _You know how it goes. It’s fine._

But it isn’t, not when he’s as sober as he is. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen or what, if anything, could trigger another episode of anxiety for him...and he doesn’t want to be the reason the night is ruined. It didn’t matter that 2D would forgive him. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself. So he stays where he is until he’s tipsy.

He’s about to leave the bathroom completely naked when he reconsiders and pulls on his pants. _2D will probably want to have something to take off, right?_ He thinks as he struggles to button them back up. The alcohol has definitely taken some effect, and as he pushes the door open, he hopes it isn’t obvious enough that 2D notices and tries to “talk” again.

But it is, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he stumbles into the room.

2D is standing by the mirror, staring at himself. “You’ve got this,” he says. “You’re not only a badass but you’re still one of the fittest frontmen out there over forty. You’ve still got it. Your grey hairs are hardly noticeable, your dick is hu-”

Murdoc clears his throat loudly and 2D wheels around, face beet red.

“Oh, uh, Murdoc,” he stares at him, his own nervousness apparent in his expression. But there’s also excitement and a little bit of awe, though Murdoc can’t imagine what of. “H...Hi...”

Murdoc takes another few steps towards him, keeping one had on the dresser to steady himself. “Have you been doing that the whole time?” He teases. In his chest, he can feel his heart pounding even with the alcohol.

“N-no,” 2D says. Then he composes himself and asks, “So, uh, you’re ready?” 

He can’t see himself ever being more ready than he is right now. So he leans back against the dresser and nods, biting his lower lip. Then he waits.

2D makes his way across the room to him until they’re face to face and Murdoc can feel the warmth of his body just inches away from him. Hesitantly, 2D reaches a hand towards his face and brushes his hair away from his forehead and, as Murdoc has come to expect, kisses him there.

Murdoc closes the rest of the gap, tilting his head back as 2D cups his face and kisses him. As 2D leans closer against him, he groans and opens his mouth, moving his tongue against his slowly.

“Murdoc,” 2D says, face still so close to his. “Be honest with me…is this alright with you?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Murdoc says, a lopsided grin on his face. He tries to lean in for another kiss, but 2D holds his face where it is.

“Because you’re drunk.”

His heart sinks and his shoulders tense as he senses himself becoming defensive. “Of course I am, I was drinking earlier.”

“No, but you weren’t this bad...and you only do that when you’re nervous.”

“2D, I’m talking to you...I’m holding a conversation, I’m standing…I’m not like I was at the last place…”

“But you still drank, which means you must have felt like what you had wasn’t enough, which means-”

“I don’t want to ruin this,” Murdoc blurts out. “I…” He looks directly into 2D’s eyes. “I’ve never... _felt_...anything with anyone that I can remember. I don’t think I’ve ever tried...but I want to...I want to fucking feel something. And I’m not so shitfaced that I can’t look you in the face right now and tell you that I want you so fucking bad, Stu…” he pulls him closer. “Please...I’ll talk to you. I’ll tell you if anything is wrong...I won’t forget.”

2D stares at him, eyes wide with shock and relief as he processes what he’s just heard.

Murdoc doesn’t wait and tries to kiss him again. 2D wastes no time picking up where they left off, grinding against him. Murdoc runs his hands down the others back, rubbing against him, needy. He’s impatient. Every touch, even those as benign as 2D running his thumb along his cheek or gingerly running his hands through his hair, and every satisfied noise the singer makes, is making his head spin. He needs more. “2D,” he pants. It’s difficult to form words. “Bed,” he manages and pushes back at him. He hopes the message is clear enough.

“Right,” 2D pants back and begins taking steps backwards. Still, he kisses him as they stumble along and it isn’t until Murdoc feels his legs hit the mattress that he realizes they’ve made it. He doesn’t hesitate and allows them to buckle, pulling 2D with him.

“Are you alright?” 2D asks, but this time it sounds more like a well-meaning check in than an interrogation.

“Perfect,” Murdoc looks up at him through half-lidded eyes. “You’re beautiful.” He shifts to make enough room for 2D to settle between his legs.

2D turns red. “You are too.”

“Suuuure.”

“You are,” 2D says. “And I’ve want to do something like this….for you wouldn’t know how long. I keep waiting to wake up and find that this is all a dream.” He runs a thumb along his jawline and Murdoc shivers. “But it’s real. So…” he bear more of his weight down. “I want you to relax your body and clear you head, and allow the bed to hold your weight and-”

“Is this another thing you learned from your meditation app that you’re always trying to teach me or are we fucking?”

“We’re fucking,” 2D says casually. “But I want you to stay present with me. Right here. In this room. So maybe it’s a bit of the app. But,” He leans down until Murdoc can feel his breath on his ear and any quick reply he had dissolves away as he shivers again. “What matters the most is how I make you feel…” And with that, he places a hesitant kiss right below his ear. Then another. He leaves a few seconds before placing a third.

Murdoc eventually understands that he’s waiting for some, if any, reaction from him, and he tilts his head more to the side with a pleased sigh. The action emboldens 2D, and he gives him a playful nip on his earlobe and kissing along his neck. It’s then that Murdoc understands what he was telling him about staying present because even as he breathes in the scent of his body and tugs at the fabric of his shirt he can sense his mind telling him he isn’t safe. The alarm is dim, but persistent.

 _Relax your body. Clear your mind. Allow the bed to hold your weight_. He runs through the phrases over and over again, giving 2D’s shirt another impatient tug.

2D responds by grinding against him which earns him another moan.

“Stu,” Murdoc murmurs, trailing a hand down to his ass in an attempt to keep their hips together. “Come on…”

“Not yet,” 2D says. “I want to explore every part of you.” He runs his tongue along his collarbone.

“Bite it,” Murdoc commands suddenly.

“Bite it?”

“You heard me. Like you did my ear, but only harder this time.”

“But that might hurt…”

Murdoc pulls him closer. “Just give it a go. I’ll like it. I promise”

He whimpers when 2D obliges him and digs his nails into this back. The pain takes him out of his thoughts in a way the gentle touching, as much as he was coming to appreciate it, could not. And he doesn’t want to examine why that is right now, he just want more. “Again,” he says.

But 2D is more focused on leaving kisses downs his chest until he reaches his stomach. There, he dips his tongue into his belly button and brings one of his hands to Murdoc’s crotch and palms him through the fabric of his jeans.

With a gasp, Murdoc arches into the touch.

“Ready?” 2D asks, fondling him further.

Murdoc clenches the sheets beneath him and nods. He’s in a daze as he listens to the rustling of the buttons and zipper of his pants as 2D unhooks them. He collects himself enough to help kick them, along with his underwear off when 2D begins to tug at them and watches as 2D takes this time to pull off his own shirt. 2D locks eyes with him while he’s in the process of unbuttoning his pants.

Murdoc isn’t one to feel self-conscious, but the intensity of the others gaze as it moves from his eyes to the rest of his body makes his heart race. No other sex partner has ever looked at him the way 2D is looking at him. The singer’s face has always been somewhat unreadable to him, but from his expression Murdoc can see that the nerves are still there along with some other emotions he can’t quite pinpoint.

And he’s about to ask when 2D is on him once more, kissing him with a hunger that wasn’t so apparent in the beginning. The feeling of his bare skin against is electrifying and it leaves him feeling a different kind of intoxication as as he moans into his mouth and hooks a leg around his waist.

They’re lost in each other this way until 2D pants, “Murdoc.” There’s hazed over look in his eyes as he speaks. “Can you turn over?”

Murdoc can barely stand to separate from him but the growing anticipation in his gut and dick compels him to listen.

Then he waits.

He feels the mattress shift as 2D moves and not long after he hears the familiar sound of a cap snapping open. “Shit,” 2D comments. “It’s, uh, a little cold.” The mattress move again. “I’m going to rub some of this on you now, Muds, okay?”

Murdoc turns his head to the side and nestles his head into the pillow. Even at that angle he can’t quite see everything that 2D is doing, but he brushes aside the uneasy feeling it gives him and gives him a thumbs up. Then he feels 2D’s hands on curve of his lower back, moving in a fanning motion as if he’s a masseur. They move like this for a few minutes, slowly rubbing his uneasiness away until it’s a distant thought in his mind.

“Stuuu,” Murdoc groans as he feels 2D’s lips replace his hands, kissing him gently. “Please…”

“I want to make sure you’re completely relaxed.” 2D’s breath is hot against his skin.

“Fuck. I am...” Murdoc says. “What else do you want me to say?”

“Alright then…” 2D’s hand slips lower and gradually, he inserts a finger. “Tell me if it hurts…” He waits until Murdoc grunts his assent. Then he begins to thrust, gentle at first. Murdoc can tell he’s trying to get a sense of his body language so he presses back against him to signal to him that it’s okay.

But when 2D begins to stretch him with a second finger it hurts and it isn’t the kind of hurt Murdoc wants. It’s the kind of hurt that stirs up his thoughts and pulls him away from where he presently is. He tries to bury his yelp into the pillow but he can feel himself clench and stiffen and he knows his discomfort is obvious. _It’s just 2D_ , he reminds himself. _It’s just 2D._

2D pulls back immediately. “Shit.”

“No.” Murdoc reaches a hand back in a half-hearted a attempt to grab his hand. “No...it’s okay.”

“Muds…”

“I promise.” Murdoc can feel his heart racing. Everything he had feared in the bathroom was threatening to come true. He couldn’t let it happen. “Fuck. Stu...I need you to trust me.”

“I..I don’t know.”

“We can go at your pace. I won’t rush you,” Murdoc says. “...Or myself,” he adds.

The room is silent as 2D thinks. “Okay,” he finally says. “Okay. But I want you to talk to me if anything is wrong...please. And be honest."

Murdoc breathes a sigh of relief. “Just keep telling me what you’re doing and we should be fine.”

2D reapplies lube to his hands and gingerly inserts his finger again, circling and hooking methodically as he explores him. And he takes his time until Murdoc has to bite back a particularly loud moan when he finds his prostate. “I’m going to add in the second finger now,” he says. It’s then that 2D begins to stretch him at a painfully slow pace, moving his fingers in and out, and in and out. Desperately, Murdoc begins to move with him, whimpering and panting shamelessly into the pillow and fisting the covers beneath him. But he makes good on his promise and holds back his demands for 2D to hurry up. If the singer was going to trust him, he would trust that 2D was going to take him at a pace that would be satisfying and comfortable for both of them.

“Hey, Murdoc?” he finally hears him ask. “I...I think I need all of you now…”

Breathless and dizzy, Murdoc can only manage a weak nod. But as 2D pulls his fingers back and grabs his hips he stops him. “Wait.” He rolls onto his back.

“Are you sure?” 2D asks. “It might not be as comfortable…”

“It’ll...be better for me if I can see you,” Murdoc says.

2D nods in understanding and crawls towards him, hooking his leg over his shoulder. He’s partially right about the discomfort. Murdoc can feel his back aching in protest as he wraps his other leg around his upper back but it’s a compromise he’s willing to make. _Stay present_ , he reminds himself, eyes fluttering shut as he listens to 2D’s shuffling as he pulls his pants down and rips open the condom wrapper.

“Alright,” 2D says. “Tell me if you need me to slow down.”

Murdoc gasps as he enters him, shifting as he adjust to the sensation. He feels 2D’s hand rubbing along his side and his lower back.

“Is..this...okay?” 2D pants, barely composed himself. Watching him struggle to stick to the gradual pace he pushed for in the beginning brings a small smile to Murdoc’s face.

He lets him wait there for another minute, not just to internally gloat but also because realistically, he knows he needs to get used to him before he starts to move. When he feels ready, he pulls him in closer with his legs and nods.

2D shifts for a moment as he tries to find the right angle, and thrusts. Murdoc lets out another pleased gasp and rocks with him and they begin to fall into a steady rhythm. 2D pants and mumbles some incoherent nonsense that Murdoc can’t make out - something about how beautiful he looks - as he thrusts, blue hair slick against his forehead.

He reaches up and cards his fingers through that blue hair. 2D meets his gaze, leaning forward to kiss him hungrily. Murdoc takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around, to hold him with as much of his body as he can and gripping his shoulders. 2D’s hand slip back between his legs, pumping his dick in time with his thrusts.

Murdoc curses into his mouth at the sensation, toes curling as he feels himself approach the edge. 2D, too, eventually loses any semblance of self-restraint and quickens his pace. Minute later, he comes with a long moan, face buried in the crook of Murdoc’s neck.

He rests there, panting and quivering until he regains his senses. Then he pulls out but stays between Murdoc legs and returns his attention to his arousal, stroking him until Murdoc seizes and shudders, and his vision blurs. He comes seconds later with a in a stream of incoherent cursing and moaning before he surrenders to a complete stupor.

2D collapses beside him. “Whew,” he breathes after some time. “How...how are you doing, Muds?” he asks after a few minutes of silence.

His question brings Murdoc out of his haze. He shifts, wincing as he stretches his back. He turns on his side to face him. “Right now?” he says. “I’m...better than I’ve been in a long time.”

“It was good then?” 2D’s face is glowing.

He had been gentle and gradual with him in a way no other sex partner had. It wasn’t treatment Murdoc was used to, or had ever fathomed that he would like. But he thinks he could get used to it - being cared for. “You blew my bloody mind,” he says. Every step of their relationship seemed to be introducing something new to him, but to his relief, he was coming to cherish that newness.

“Really? You mean that? I was so nervous.”

“I do.” Murdoc says. “You were alright going on when I asked you to...I uh...appreciate it. But,” he grins. “What about me? Did I fulfill all of your deepest, darkest desires?” 

“You were brilliant,” 2D says. He doesn’t say anything more but continues to stare at him, the “biggest grin” Murdoc has noticed earlier still seen on his face. Murdoc is about to ask him what the hell he’s staring at when it dawns on him. Immediately, his cheeks begin to turn red in anticipation of what he knows is coming.

“Not aga-” he starts, not even questioning when he had learned to read 2D’s expressions so well.

“ _I need some love like I never needed love before_ ,” 2D sings. “ _Wanna make love to ya baby…I had a little love, now I'm back for more. Wanna make love to ya baby.”_

“Christ.” Murdoc goes to bring a hand to his face but 2D grabs it and intertwines their fingers.

“ _Set your spirit free, it's the only way to be,_ ” he continues, more spirited now. “ _'Cause tonight is the night when two become oneeee.”_

“See that’s something you could have gotten out of your system at the beginning of the night. What happened to only singing when you’re nervous?”

“I sing when I’m happy, too,” 2D says. “By the way, which Spice Girl do you think was the fittest?”

Murdoc snorts. “Really, 2D?” Then again, it wasn’t the strangest post-sex conversations he’s had. “I’d say Sporty. I always liked a girl who could kick my arse...is there a reason you’re asking me this?”

“Well, you know how couples always make their ‘free pass’ lists? Like, of individuals you’ve always fancied but never had a chance with, and the ‘free-pass’ lists gives you a free pass to shag them if by some miracle you _did_ get the chance...I guess I was just wondering who would be on that list for you.”

Murdoc shoots him a puzzled look. “2D, we’ve only just fucked for the second time and I’m probably going to die before we get to the third. I’m not making any bloody lists with you right now.”

2D squeezes his hand, a wave of seriousness falls over his face. “You’re not going to die,” he says. He speaks with such certainty that Murdoc almost believes him. Almost. “Alright, fine,” he adds. “You’re not going to die now. So, just like you did before, stay here with me in this moment...can you do that?”

"I...can make an attempt." Murdoc rolls over onto his back and settles into the sheets. He rests his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” 2D asks.

"How I need to sleep,” Murdoc says. “And,” he adds with a smirk. “About how you _didn’t_ explore every part of me like you said you would."

"Oh, well, I guess I got a little ahead of myself," 2D says. "No thanks to you."

"No, no thanks to _you_ ," Murdoc counters, a teasing grin on his face.

He feels 2D nestle next to him. "Perhaps that means you'll have to stick around until we do this again..."

Murdoc takes a moment to take in their closeness and the security he feels with 2D's head resting on his shoulder and his hand splayed lazily across his chest. He intertwines his fingers with that hand again and finally finds it in him to relax his body, clear his mind of monsters and lost parents and allow both the bed and 2D to hold him. "I guess so," he says, yawning. "I guess so."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, "why wasn't their sex kinky?"...it will get there. They're still working out their respective nerves rn and even so, there will still be times when it isn't kinky. So uh..yeah.
> 
> 2D talks about his dad dying in We Are the Dury. However, I googled his quote and found that it was a pretty common quote so I'm not 100% sure if 2D was saying it because his dad actually died or not, but for the duration of this story and its future themes, I'm going to interpret 2D's quote as genuine. 
> 
> Big thank you's to idkmybffspock, infectedwithgeekism, lemongrassartbabyyy, appelope and jaegervega on tumblr for some exceptional fanart. You guys are really inspiring and your work really brightened my days. 
> 
> Your comments, thoughts and reactions mean a lot to me and are greatly appreciated. Happy Labor Day weekend! Sorry for the long author's note!


	14. Chapter 14

2D is awake before him the next morning. By the sound of screams coming from the television Murdoc can tell he’s been up long enough to settle on another terrible horror movie to watch.  He pulls the blankets up further over his head to drown them out. There’s mild irritation but there’s also something warmer, affectionate even, stirring in his mind. These mornings were becoming normal to him. 

He peeks at the singer through the corner of his eye and catches a flash of his journal and hands. 2D is writing. “Since when do they play horror movies this early in the morning?” he grumbles, half to 2D, half into the pillow. His initial plan to go back to sleep is out the window now that his curiosity is piqued. When 2D doesn’t answer he turns his head towards him and pokes at the spine of the book. “What have you got going on over there?”

2D’s fingers encircle his wrist gently and pull it away from the journal. “...You,” he says, intertwining their fingers again. “....Morning, Muds.” 

Murdoc feels his heart flutter. “Writing about how I rocked your entire world?” He smirks. “How you can’t wait for another go.” 

“Last night,” 2D reads. “Murdoc and I had sex.” He closes the book and nestles back down into the bed so that they’re eye level. “There’s some other stuff too but for now that’s all your getting.” Ginger in his movement, he reaches a hand out and tucks a stray strand of hair behind his ear. “How are you feeling?”

“I...slept,” is his impulsive response. There had been no nightmares or abrupt awakenings or uncertainty. He had simply fallen asleep and stayed asleep.

“That’s good.” 2D closes the journal. “I did too. But what I mean to ask is how you’re, you know,  _ feeling _ .” 

Murdoc sighs and begins to push himself into a sitting position. The effort leaves him with a dizzy feeling and a dull ache in his head. “Ugh.” He lifts his free hand up to rub an itch in his eye. It trembles as it moves. “Where's that 12-pack I bought?” he mutters to himself. 

He sees it out of the corner of his eye on the computer desk in their room. Despite his own desire to lounge in bed with 2D longer, he know the aching will only get worse if he ignore it so he gets up. Immediately, he’s greeted by pain in his lower back punishing him for the previous night’s activities. He winces as he walks, gait stiff.

“Why don’t I get one for you?” 2D asks.  


“I don’t need one. I need more like five...or ten,” Murdoc replies with no intention of accepting 2D’s offer. 

“Was I too rough last night?” 2D persists. Murdoc can hear the worry in his voice.

“No, 2D,” he says sounding slightly exasperated. “I’m not in my twenties anymore. This sort of thing happens and it’s a compromise I’ve got no qualms about making.” He can’t understand why or how 2D could worry about him to such degrees, especially when their sexual encounters were probably the healthiest he’d ever experienced in his fifty-five years of life. Even if 2D’s performance in bed had been a cause of concern it would have fallen to the very bottom of his already extensive list.

“Okay,” 2D says. “Just making sure.” 

He feels a tiny wave of relief as he cracks a can of beer open. “You don’t have to make sure every single time. If something’s wrong I’ll tell you.” His eyes move to the box beside them that holds his mother’s journal. “Besides, in case you’ve forgotten I have a few other things going wrong right now.” The sex had been a much needed escape, but all his problems and internal issues were still there. Even as he downs the beer wishing desperately for it to take them away he knows they’ll be with him until he either puts and end to them or dies. Those are his options, and the knowledge sends a shiver through him. 

It dawns on him that room is chilly, chillier than he remembers it being last night. Still, he stands by the desk silently gazing at the materials in front of him.

“I wouldn’t be asking so often if you answered my other questions...or answered with more than one word. I just asked how you were feeling and all you responded with was a question about beer.” 2D says as Murdoc stares at the other contents in the box. 

The question provokes another train of thought. He didn’t answer 2D’s question about feeling because he doesn’t know how he’s feeling. He knows that he slept, he knows that waking up next to 2D is beginning to mean something to him and he knows that sleeping with him last night was special to him in a way he hadn’t experienced. But as much as those experiences filled him with warm feelings, the discomfort and shame remain. He isn’t sure he can fit into the narrow, idealistic mold they’ve slowly been carving out of the mound of confusion and anger and fear that made up who he was. He isn’t sure he deserves it or believes in it regardless of how much he thinks he wants it. “I need to think,” he says as he walks as quickly and carefully as he can to his suitcase. It would be easier to focus on their more immediate problems for not.

“Muds,” 2D says while he digs out the first articles of clothing he can find and throws them on the bed.

A part of him wants to open the journal as he is without getting ready, but he wants to be able to flee quickly if it comes to that. 

“Why don’t we have some breakfast first?” 2D suggests. “Or watch the end of this movie? You should try to take it easy...”

“Not a chance,” Murdoc replies from the bathroom. “Not after what that old lady told me, or gave me for that matter. I’m carrying around bloody human bones right now, and I’m not going to lie around and wait like sitting duck for something to go wrong like last time.” 

By the time he comes out of the bathroom, 2D has gotten out of bed as well and started to get ready. 

Murdoc gives him a strained, half-smile as a silent ‘thank you’ when they make eye contact. Maybe one day everything would be okay and he’d be able to lie in bed with him into the afternoon. But that day wasn’t today. 

He grabs the box of his mother’s belongings as soon as he has on a pair of pants and a shirt and his bags are ready by the door. Setting the box on the ground he then turns his attention to the furniture in the room and makes an effort to clear as wide a space on the floor as he can. When he feels satisfied, he sits down, careful in his movements and pulls the journal out of the box and into his lap. Then he reads the first page.   


_ The raven is a bird of omens and prophecy, and in most places where this bird resides it has been believed to possess supernatural powers. Call on the raven to interpret messages in you divination practices or to help develop your clairvoyant skills. This bird supports shamanic work by bringing clarity to the visions you receive. Call of the raven for your magic work, especially to manifest important changes, Also call on it to connect with the energy and magic of the Crone.  _

He glances at the bones in the box and gulps. Bone divination wasn’t a practice he had ever attempted. He turns the page.

_ Use an image or figurine of a the raven for aid in honoring and connecting with ancestors. It is a willing and wise guide in the otherworld who will act as a guardian to you. As a bird of the battlefields, ask for the raven’s protection if you anticipate a battle. The raven can help bolster courage and is a bird of healing.  _

The other pages contain clippings of feathers, now brittle pieces of Aspen leaves and branches and drawings zodiac constellations. Murdoc recognizes his own star sign but not the others. 

“Oooo, are you going to summon something?” 2D crouches down beside him.

“I haven’t got the faintest idea what I’m about to do.” He looks from the journal to the empty space in front of him. “But I’ve got to do something. What if the next stop is an empty house again?” His gut tells him that he can’t just rely on his mother’s letters. After all, she had chosen to leave specific belongings of hers behind for a reason. If she was truly trying to help him then that had to mean he was meant to use them. “Can I borrow your yoga mat?”

“Uh, well, technically it’s Noodle’s yoga mat...but yes.” 2D jumps up and disconnects it from his bag. 

“And your flick knife,” Murdoc adds.

“My flick knife? Murdoc…” 2D says, growing suspicion in his voice. 

“One of those sharpie markers would work too. I don’t care. But I need to mark a circle on it.” This had to be his worst attempt at a ritual in his history of attempting occult rituals. He had been more accurate and better prepared on acid. The sound of a loud explosion come from the television. “And turn that rubbish movie off!” 

2D supplies him with a green permanent marker and mutes the television rather than turn it off completely. Murdoc doesn’t ask why he has it nor does he argue further about the movie. Instead he grabs the marker from him without taking his eyes off of the yoga mat. 

The circle he produces is barely visible and its lines are uneven from the tremor in his hand as he draws. But it would have to do. Murdoc grumbles as he takes his necklace off and slips off his inverted cross and charm. Besides the bones, those were the only throwing pieces he can think to include.

He returns to the journal. “Okay, what now?” He mutters as he flips through the book. When he finally find a page with directions her curses. 

“What is it saying?” 2D peers over his shoulder. 

“To connect with raven energy, go to a graveyard right before dark,” Murdoc reads. “Of fucking course. And I’m about to try this in the middle of fucking day.” 

“Well we couldn’t have done it last night,” 2D says. “It would have ruined the mood.” 

Murdoc ignores him and grabs a handful of bones along with his two items and throws them into the circle. They fall on the mat in not notable pattern. Still, he waits. 

“Is, uh, something supposed to be happening?” 

“I’m supposed to ‘read’ what they’re telling me,” Murdoc says. “But I’ve never done a bone reading in my life.” Why was he even trying this then? Perhaps he thought it would somehow come to him the same way he was able to read the walls in the abandoned house. 

“So you can’t read them then?”

“It isn’t something I ever had the chance to study, no thanks to you lot...especially Russel...hogging all the road kill, telling me I’m not allowed to dig up corpses from the graveyard….” He looks back down at the journal in his lap. The summoning phrase on the page in front of him, also meant to be said at sunset, would be his last effort. “Oh fuck it,” he says and reads. “Corvus corax, dark as night. Come to me in fading light. With the gift of second sight, bring your magic on this night.” 

“But it isn’t nighttime,” 2D comments.

“I  _ know _ that. Christ.” Murdoc reads the phrase again and pauses. This time, 2D doesn’t say anything. When nothing happens again, Murdoc reads the phrase a third time. Then he waits.  _ It says to read three times and then wait. So that’s what I’m doing.  _

Minutes pass and nothing changes. Thankfully, 2D doesn’t offer any additional commentary either. Despite that, Murdoc can feel his disappointment becoming more pronounced with each passing second.

The he feels a breeze. It’s blowing from behind him so he turns around, both fear and excitement restless in his gut. 

There’s nothing there. 

Then he hears the scratching sound of talons from a completely different direction.

“Woahhh…” he hears 2D comment and he wheels around again. 

And then he sees it, perched on the TV ruffling its feathers. All he can do is stare, shock all over his face.

“You summoned a raven,” 2D says, wearing a similar expression of wonderment.

“I...summoned a raven,” Murdoc says with some disbelief. He changes that quickly. “I mean, of course. Of course I summoned a raven. I’ve got Beelzebub himself on speed dial. This is as typical an experience for me as watching a poorly made monster movie is for you.” 

“So what do we do now?” 2D asks. “Do we ask it questions?” He waves to the bird. “Hello!” Then he stops himself. “Wait, no..it will probably understand my bird calls better.”

“You’re not going to make any stupid bird noises at it, 2D,” Murdoc snaps. “It’s not a normal bird.” 

The raven flies down from the television and lands in front of them, fluffing its wings. As it does so, Murdoc catches a glimpse of its lone, white feather. “And…” he adds. “I think we’ve met before.” 

He meets its gaze briefly as it hops in his direction. To his bewilderment, it hops past him and to the circle ad begins pecking at the bones. 

“Caw!” 2D squawks. “....Caw?”

Murdoc glares at him, heart racing in his chest. “I swear to Satan if you do or say anything else I’m going to tell it to attack you like it did in the woods.” He turns back to the bird. “Oi, I’m over here!” 

The bird halts its activities and meets his gaze. 

“I’m flying blind here…” Murdoc begins. He doesn’t have any dead animals to feed it and he’s not going to let it take his inverted cross or votive charm, even as he sees it eyeing them.  He doesn’t know what else to do besides talk to it and see if anything happens. “But uh..” he gestures to the bones. “I have no idea how to read those, but they’re saying something, aren’t they? What am I looking for?” 

“Murdoc,” the bird says back. It hops towards him.

“I don’t know what I’m doing other than following these addresses,” he says. “But if there’s anything else you can tell me...a hint or a warning. I’ll take anything…”

It hops until it’s in his lap with the journal. He winces slightly at the sting of its talons digging into his legs. Then it stares at him as if it’s expecting something. The thought to pet it enters Murdoc’s head but he hesitates. Even if it is an ally, this raven is intimidating in a way Cortez never was, and he can’t shake the feeling that any interaction with it brings significant risk.

_ Trust _ , its eyes seem to tell him. 

Slowly, Murdoc reaches out a cautious hand and rests it on its head. 

Then he sees. 

_ “Tada!” a nineteen year old 2D exclaims. _

_ “‘Tada’ what?” Murdoc gazes out at the stretch of garishly colored rides in front of him. The grounds are completely empty and the lights are all dimmed. The late hour only makes the present scene more depressing and eerie. “I trekked over here - that took the better half of today just so you know - to write some music. Why are we here?”  _

_ “We’re going to work on stuff,” 2D reassure him. “I thought you’d like to mix it up every now and then...you know, since you’re always complaining about how we can never do anything productive at my house because of my dad and…” he glances at him nervously. “You look like you haven’t had the best day…” _

_ Murdoc knows he’s talking about his face, specifically, the evident bruises on his neck and his slightly swollen eye. On any other day Murdoc would have simply stayed in his room until his injuries healed, but since meeting 2D his practice schedule had become his top priority, even if that meant walking around with evidence of home visible on his face.  _

_ Finally, his way out was so, so close.  _

_ 2D was not as cooperative as he would have liked. Murdoc hoped his face would go unnoticed, but the second 2D opened the door and saw him he had ushered him away from his home and questioned him. Murdoc had been so busy evading his questions that he didn’t notice where they were until 2D stopped them. Now he was standing in the entrance of a closed down fairground with and overly nosy new bandmate he hadn’t known more than a month.  _

_ “My day was going along swimmingly until now,” he grumbles. “I told you...I got into it with some arseholes at the pub. That’s all.” What had actually happened was a particularly bad fight with his father for stealing his money again. Murdoc, nearly brought to tears with anger and frustration, drank himself into a clumsy mess using his father’s alcohol before confronting him and it hadn’t ended well. Now, he was broke again. He changes the subject. “So I’m going to ask again - why are we here?” _

_ 2D examines him with doubt in his eyes. “You don’t trust me do you?” _

_ “What does it matter?” _

_ “How can we expect to write music together if you don’t trust me?” _

_ “I’ve known you all of a month,” Murdoc says. “And you aren’t family. You’re an employee at BEST. What, were you expecting my autobiography? A copy of my primary school diary?”  _

_ “No,” 2D says. “I just wanted to know what happened...and if there was anything I could do to help.”  _

_ The words almost cause him to physically recoil. As far as he’s concerned they’re disingenuous and manipulative. How could 2D offer something like that to him when he didn’t know what kind of help Murdoc needed? He was just trying to get the full story out of him. Then he would be able to use it against him somehow, probably as payback for the accidents and what happened to his eyes. Murdoc isn’t stupid. He doesn’t say anything.  _

_ Eventually, 2D understands that it’s dangerous territory he’s edging into and shifts topics. “So, uh, these are the fairgrounds where my dad works.”  _

_ “What about them?”  _

_ “It’s really spooky here at this time of night. I used to sneak in here with a couple of my mates from school to smoke.” He laughs. “You should have seen us this one time. We thought we saw a-” _

_ “Hurry it up and get to the point.” Murdoc crosses his arms stubbornly. But 2D wasn’t lying. There’s an undeniable creepy ambiance to the closed down fair, and he could easily see his younger self having a field day on the empty rides and hiding in the woods out in the distance.  _

_ Deflated by his curt response, 2D sighs. “Okay, uh, follow me.”  _

_ He leads him down the main path to the carousel. The remote location amplifies the squeaking of the rusted metal gate as he unlocks it to an uncomfortable degree. The groaning of the floor as they step onto the wooden floor and maneuver past the brightly painted animals seems even louder. It’s almost as if the old ride is alive. _

_ “Take a look at this,” 2D gestures towards the center of the ride. “This organ? I made it.” He grins, his pride clear on his face. _

_ Murdoc doesn’t know the first thing about building instruments, and he can’t believe that someone as slow as 2D had successfully completed what he can only imagine was an incredibly complex project. He gawks briefly before forcing his expression back into its resting scowl. “So? How does that help us? It isn’t like you can take it out of the merry-go-round and back to my place.”  _

_ “I know,” 2D says. “But I have a lot of leftover parts - pedal boards, MIDI boards, lots of pipes I carved out but didn’t end up using...did you know the note changes depending on how long or thick you make the pipe? I think I might be able to turn some of them into like, sort of a oversized pan flute maybe…”  _

_ Something flashes in the surrounding woods, like an entire group of people turning waving around flashlights before turning all of them off at the same time. He only sees it out of the corner of his eye but it unnerves him. He chooses to try to ignore it. “Okay,” he says. “Amazing, neat, great, et cetera, et cetera. I’m trying to be a famous musician not a carpenter.”  _

_ “I was reading some of the lyrics you sent me,” 2D continues. “And I know when we talked last time we agreed on a punk record but everyone knows what punk sounds like. How about adding some different sounds? Have you ever heard a punk song with a pan flute riff? Or a punk song with one of my original MIDI songs looping in the background? These songs you’ve written are, uh, different, but in a good way. I think we should try to make them as memorable as possible. Why just use the same old guitar and drum combination? I think your voice is a lot more unique than that.”  _

_ “That’s a given.” No one had ever complimented his work without any prompting. He typically resorted to embarrassing levels of attention-seeking to get so much as a glance or a listen and he has to struggle to keep himself from jumping excitedly. “So you and your two remaining brain cells can still recognize genius. Good.”  _

_ “Well, uh, yeah,” 2D says. “Of course I do...I’m your friend.”  _

_ Then the flashing returns, closer this time. Murdoc turns his head in its direction, confused.  _

_ “What is it?” 2D asks.  _

_ “Did...did you see that?” _

_ “See what?” _

_ “The lights,” Murdoc says. He points in the direction of the trees. “Over there in the woods.”  _

_ 2D looks puzzled. “The woods?”  _

_ “Yes, Einstein, the woods. Right in front of you.” He watches as 2D stares in the direction he’s pointing, only looking more confused as the seconds pass. “What, did you go blind in the last five minutes of us talking?” _

_ “Uhhhh,” 2D begins, clearly hesitant. “Murdoc...I don’t know how to say this but...there aren’t any woods there. The woods that used to be there were cut down something like fifty years ago…How did you know about them?”  _

_ Suddenly, he’s overcome by a sickening feeling of dread. “Wh...what?” The gate to the carousel creaks again but it sounds louder than it did the first time they opened it. His own heartbeat pounds in his head. 2D starts to talk to him, but all the comes out is a crackling, static sound. That’s when it dawns on him. “It’s wrong…” he says. _

_ 2D tilts his head in curiosity and continues whatever he’s trying to say to him but, as the images flicker and stretch around him like a bad trip, now Murdoc knows better.  _

_ “This isn’t how it went,” he says. As he speaks the fairground, the carousel and 2D slowly becoming more transparent. He backs away. “This is all wrong.” Only one command exists in his mind - run. _

_ Then he’s running and it’s dark. Occasionally pull of his clothing getting caught on what he thinks might be branches. He can’t see where he’s going or what’s behind him. It’s familiar. Too familiar. If he’s where he thinks he is then he knows what’s coming next.  _

_ He feels the heavy footsteps next, mere feet behind him and he bites back a whimper before urging his legs to move faster.  _

_ Turn around, something tells him. Turn around and see.  _

_ He can’t and he won’t. He would outrun it. He had no other choice.  _

_ But no sooner do the thoughts leave his head does he lose his footing, hitting the ground with a thud. The ground is abnormally cold and hard. It’s uncomfortable against his hands as he scrambles to push himself up. _

_ It’s behind him now. He can hear its growls and feel the distinct drop in temperature. And after another painfully long second of getting on his feet he tries to run again. But it’s far too late for that. The sharp sting of what feel like claws or talons dig deep into his shoulder and yank him backwards. _

_ And he falls.  _

Then his eyes snap open. He’s back in the hotel room and it’s morning.

“Murdoc!” The raven flaps its wings and hops off his lap. 

He tries to find words but he feels frozen in place.

“What? Did you see anything?” he hears 2D ask from behind him.

His heart is still pounding and he can still feel a burning in his shoulder. He pats himself down, trying to make sure that he really is where he thinks he is. “I...don’t know what the hell just happened,” he answers. “Was I here the entire time?”

“Uh, yeah,” 2D says. “You were just sitting there with your eyes closed.”

Murdoc looks at the bones in front of him and back at the raven. “I don’t get it!” he yells at it. “I don’t know what how to use any of this! What  _ was _ that?...in the woods?” 

_ You know _ , it’s eyes tell him.

He’s about to yell at it some more but hesitates when he senses 2D settling beside him. 

“Hey,” 2D says softly. “Muds. Whatever was going on in that vision isn’t here now, okay?” 

Murdoc sees him reach his hand out, and immediately, he takes it.

_ 2D _ , he thinks to himself as he tilts his head towards him and feels his fingers brushing along his cheek.  _ Just 2D. Only 2D.  _ He tries to breathe. If he can stay focused on him, he can stay grounded. He wasn’t in the woods anymore, he wasn’t in Crawley twenty-three years ago. He was in a hotel room in America with his boyfriend. 

“What did you see?” 2D asks.

But Murdoc is already losing himself in the singer’s touch. He leans forward, running his free hand up 2D’s arm. “I don’t want to think about that right now,” he says, moving closer until their foreheads are touching and their noses brush against one another. In his head, a vaguely familiar voice nags at him to stop distracting himself, that there was more important business to attend to. 

He disregards that voice, fingers twisting the sleeve of 2D’s shirt and tugging and inviting him closer. Old habits didn’t die so easily. He can only think of one thing that could halt all of his thoughts and take him away from everything. Maybe it didn’t make the most sense and maybe it wasn’t the healthiest but it’s all he knows how to do in this moment. 

When 2D doesn’t respond quickly enough he closes the rest of the gap between them. 

His kisses are open and needy, sloppy even. But form isn’t so much his concern as is contact, any contact. 2D welcomes him easily enough but it’s in that moment that he realizes how desperate he is. He’s initiated something irrational, something he knows he doesn’t have time for right now. Did he want to have sex right now? A part of his brain tells him ‘yes.’

Pushing those thoughts away, he snakes his arm around 2D anyways and pulls him into him. 2D follows, pushing them into one of the table chairs behind them. As he does so, Murdoc can feel his hand running up his back to steady him. He stops at his shoulder gripping it firmly. It’s then that a sharp, stabbing pain shoots through him as if 2D is digging his fingers into an open wound. 

Murdoc’s eyes snap open. He’s far too shocked to make any effort to suppress his pained cry as he jerks backward, hitting his head on the chair in his panic. In the background the raven screeches as it swarms and pecks at 2D.

“Muds?” 2D calls to him. “What happened?” He sounds just as terrified as Murdoc feels. “What’s wrong?...Ouch!” He tries to shoo the bird away. 

Murdoc can only continue to back away, not just from him but from the bones, the journal, everything. “I don’t know! I don’t know what the fuck is going on...I don’t fucking know! My...my…” He pulls at his shirt frantically until it’s over his head. Then he runs his own hand along the skin of his shoulder and flinches. 

When he pulls his fingers back, they’re stained with blood. “What the fuck did you do to me?!” He screams at the raven.

The bird halts its attack on 2D at the sound of his voice. And once again, it hops towards him.

_ It’s a friend _ , Murdoc has to remind himself. The sound of its talons on the ground is barely audible as it approaches but unable to take his eyes off his hand, it’s his only way of knowing it’s getting closer. The longer he stares at the blood the more faint he feels. Never in his experience had he ever been physically injured by an entity that wasn’t there. 

Or was it? 

“Y-you’re bleeding…” 2D says. It sounds more like he’s struggling to believe what he’s seeing. “But...how?...When?”

The raven hops into his lap again and squawks, pulling him out of his trance. “Murdoc!” it says firmly. 

When Murdoc meets its gaze he feels a tightening in his shoulder.  _ It will heal _ , the bird’s eyes tell him. 

Without breaking their eye contact, he reaches a quivering hand back to his injured shoulder and brushes his hand along his skin. His eyes widen. “It’s...gone?” 

“Go!” the bird caws at him. “Go! Now!” 

“Why?” Murdoc asks it. “What just happened? What did I see?”   


But whatever messages the raven may have intended for him when it first arrived no longer seem to be a priority. “Go!” it commands again, digging its talons into his legs.

“Alright, alright we’ll go!” Murdoc shoos it away. It flies towards the window and disappears. “And stop attacking my…!” he pauses as he calls after it. “...My boyfriend. He’s on our side.” Not bothering to wonder how it left or where it went, he pushes himself to his feet. His legs are shaking. 

“Thanks,” 2D says as he nurses a scratch on his hand. “But uh, I don’t think I followed all of that. Where are we going?”

“I can’t think about that right now,” Murdoc snaps. “I just know the last old lady said I need to listen to the bird and if that’s what’s going to keep me away from that fucking shadow demon then I’m not going to question it.” He pulls his shirt back over his head. 

“We ought to at least pick a direction.” 2D helps him as he places the bones back in the box. He even sets the charm and his inverted cross back on his necklace when his own hands are too shaky to do it. “Like north or south or east or west.” 

“Fine,” Murdoc turns to the shoebox and flips through the letters. “Christ...she was living with that Dorothy bird for years.” He wonders if there are more contacts in the city. The next address he sees read New Mexico. “Then she moves west.”

“So west it is them?” 

“West it is.” 

* * *

2D is quiet as they pull out of the parking lot. Murdoc wants to be grateful for this but his silence brings a certain level of tension to the atmosphere in the car and the cornered feeling that results is difficult for him to ignore. 2D hadn’t even tried to turn on the radio yet. Clearly, something was wrong. “What’s the matter?” he finally asks, dreading the answer.

“You were bleeding,” 2D says. He’s staring at his hands, kneading them anxiously. “You were bleeding but I didn’t see anything happen...I didn’t know.” 

“What happened in the room happened because I summoned it. Me.” Murdoc is trying to convince himself as much as he is 2D. He’s barely managing to drive the car as it is. “I asked for guidance and it gave me a rerun of a stupid nightmare I’ve been having for the past forty years at least except…it wasn’t quite the same.” The clouds are dark in the sky, threatening to rain again. “...It’s never caught me before. I haven’t got a clue how to interpret any of it...”  _ I just want it to stop. _ “But it doesn’t matter because like you said- we’re going to figure it out and it’ll be fine.”

2D continues to stare at his hands. “We need help,” he says quietly.”

“From who?” Murdoc runs through a mental list of potential contacts, some of whom he hadn’t spoken to in years. He can’t fathom any one of them would have the faintest idea of where to start, nor would they want to. 2D was the only person he’d spoken to with any regularity  in the past few weeks anyways. Otherwise, he was completely alone. 

“I could call Russel,” 2D suggests. “He knows a lot about ghosts. Or Noodle. She knows a lot about demons.”

The only thing that scared him more than succumbing to his curse and dying was Noodle and Russel finding him. “No.” He answers some quickly he nearly cuts 2D off. “Not a bloody chance in hell.” 

“But…”

“What ‘help’ do you think they’re going to want to give me?” Murdoc snaps. “Other than dragging me back to the house to berate me some more.” 

“They don’t know the full story, Murdoc. If you told them I’m sure they wo-”

“ _ No _ . They wouldn’t.” It pains him to say that, but they had been angry at him for the better part of the last two years. There had been some moments of comradery scattered within, but he knew better than to assume those interactions meant anything. “As if they would believe a word I said.” He isn’t stupid. 

“They’d believe me,” 2D says. 

His reassurance makes Murdoc feel worse. “I don’t know why you’re bringing them up,” he says, voice low. “They’ve spent the last five years making it crystal clear what they think of me…”

“Because I’m worried about you.” 2D’s voice is quiet but firm. “And I’m worried about us and...I don’t know that I could forgive myself is something bad happened to you and I hadn’t tried everything I possibly could to stop it. It worries me that you’re so...not scared. Or you’re lying. I don’t know which one is worse. It’s almost like you want this thing - whatever it is - to get you.”

His words trigger a wave of fear and anger that tear the final thread holding him together. Murdoc pulls the car over to the shoulder of the road, ignoring the honks from other confused drivers. When he lets go of the wheel, his hands are shaking.

“Murdoc…” 2D begins.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ tell I’m not scared!” His voice quivers as he speaks. He’s furious but he’s also very aware that he could fall apart at any moment. “I’m fucking  _ terrified _ . Okay?! I told you that yesterday!” He runs one of his hands through his hair nervously. When it doesn’t bring him the relief he’s looking for it turns into a painful combination of pulling and scratching at his scalp. “I know I might not come back from this and it’s taking every fiber of my being to stop myself from walking out into traffic right now. Of course I’m scared! I’m so, so scared! Are you happy now?!” 

He wants to feel on top of the world again, or at the very least, like he has some modicum of control over his life. Five years ago it had been his reality and he had relished in it. He doesn't care that it was all hollow. It didn't hurt like he'd been hurting for the duration of his search. The emotional growing pains were so close to unbearable that he'd give anything to be empty and numb and bullshitting his way through another interview like he was five years ago. “All I wanted to do at the beginning of all of this was figure out what happened to her...” 

2D reaches a hand out, gently grasping the hand still tangled in his hair. “Hey, Muds,” he says. “Muds...I’m here, okay?”

Murdoc grips the car door with his free hand, willing himself to not pull away or swing at him. “You’re not the one who was bleeding or who gets nightmares or who has a monsters chasing you and no answers of how to make it all stop. You have no idea what this sort of fear feels like, Stu, so don’t try to tell me what I do and don’t need.” 

His comments makes palpable crack in what had been 2D’s otherwise calm and gentle demeanor. He tightens his grip on his wrist to the point of it being uncomfortable, painful even. “I know what it feels like to be scared, Murdoc,” he says, tone icy and for a second, Murdoc is stunned. But the moment is fleeting and before it can truly register 2D’s grip softens. “But you’re right,” 2D says. “There’s no way for me or anyone else to fully understand what this all much feel like. And you’re right that it’s your search...and if you don’t want to reach out to Russel of Noodle, we won’t.”

Murdoc’s fingers twist in his hair until his scalp stings. Regardless of what 2D was telling him, that he brought Noodle and Russel up in the first place leaves him wary. If causing 2D to worry about him resulted in 2D looking for outside help, how could Murdoc ensure that he wouldn’t conspire with them behind his back?

2D fingers intertwine with his own as he tries to get him to stop pulling his hair. “It’s okay,” he says, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead, then his eyebrow, and then along the rest of his face. 

Murdoc squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t push him away but he doesn’t embrace him either. 2D had never given him a reason to doubt him but still the voice in his head tells him otherwise, and he keeps his mouth set in a firm line as 2D tries to kiss him. 

_ 2D is all you have right now _ , he argues with himself.  _ He cares about you and you know that because he’s told you, he’s SHOWN you.  _ He feels 2D’s thumb rub the back of his hand gently, encouraging him. _ And you care about him.  _ With a small sigh he loosens his grip on his hair and kisses him back slow and pensive, moving his tongue half-heartedly against his. It’s difficult to keep his mind from catastrophizing and none of 2D’s touches seemed to be working. 

When they separate, 2D examines him like he’s unsure of how to interpret his behavior. Never a fan of being on the receiving end of an intense 2D stare down, Murdoc freezes, eyes locked with his. 

“We can still ask for help,” 2D says, eyes softening. “There was, uh, that contact that old lady in North Carolina gave us...Ava, right? She said she was well-known around the swamps and country I think...it might take awhile but it might be worth a try…” 

The mention of the name makes him uneasy for some reason. “Right…” he says. 2D seemed insistent on seeing out some form of help, and he isn’t sure that would stop any time soon. He surveys the horizon, waiting to see if the raven appears. When it doesn't, he says, “If you’ll shut up about Russel and Noodle then fine.” Maybe she’d be able to explain what he saw. 

As he predicted, 2D is at ease the moment he finishes his sentence. “I will,” he says with an eager smile.

“But if it takes too long to find her we're leaving,” Murdoc adds. “I can’t stay anywhere too long.” 

* * *

 

It takes them the next day and a half before they get an address from a crabber with missing teeth who is also sure to tell them that he heard she shape-shifts in the night and ‘sees everything.’ They purchase some smoked Redfish from his ramshackle food stand as an expression of thanks and leave before he can ask them any more questions, finding a place further up the docks to eat. 

Murdoc’s shoulder aches that morning. The ache persists through the pack of beer he’s consumed that morning and bothers him as he lifts the fish to his mouth. 

2D scoops bean directly out of the can beside him. “You’re still angry with me, aren’t you?” 

“Why do you say that?”

“You’ve been so quiet...for you at least. And you’re hardly responsive when we kiss like I’m boring you until the moment fizzles out. You haven’t laughed or teased the way you were doing before...I could go on.” 2D furrows his brow. “Is this really all because I suggested we reach out to our band mates - no,  _ our friends _ of twenty years for help? 

“Is it so difficult for you to believe that I have a lot on my mind?” Murdoc replies. “...And it isn’t always about you.” Still, he can’t help but add, “But it was pretty shit of you to even think that bringing them up would’ve been helpful in any way.” He was try to be more open after all, so he wasn’t going to deny 2D’s suspicions. 

“Okay, so I said something wrong,” 2D says. “I understand that. You corrected me and I backed off. Other than that I’m, uh, a little bit confused of what else you’d like me to do.”

2D’s well-intended suggestion had only reminded Murdoc of the tenuous state of his band and left him with all manner of paranoid thoughts, thoughts that he knew were distorted and unlikely but that wouldn’t leave his head. He doesn’t know how 2D expects him to offer any sort of solution when he doesn’t even know himself. 

“We have to trust each other,” 2D continues. “And that means you have to trust me...and I thought we were doing well there...for a second.” 

“Every step of this journey has sprung something new on me,” Murdoc tosses a piece of fish onto the dock and watches as a group of seagulls flock to it. “Excuse me for having some trouble digesting it all, and excuse me for not being exactly what you expected.” The seagulls squawk and peck at each other as they fight over the fish. “Ninety percent of the time I don’t even know what to expect from myself, yet you somehow still think I have some neat and tidy explanation for why I’m acting a certain way. I’m bloody trying at least. I’m going to this address outside of our schedule with you for this ‘help’ you keep going on about...”

His response seems to satisfy 2D who smiles a small smile. “Yeah...yeah you have a point. You’re trying.” He digs out another forkful of beans. “And I think this Ava person will be able to explain a lot about the monster you always see and how to use your mum’s belongings and what what happened to your shoulder the other day…”

_ You don’t trust me, _ 2D’s voice from his memory echoes. “Hey, 2D,” he says. “About that...do you remember that night you took me to see the fairground where your dad used to work?” 

2D laughs. “Oh...yeah. That was probably the third or fourth time I met up with you. It was a bit embarrassing now that I think about it.”

“What happened?” Murdoc asks. “I remember the gist of it but not how it ended...you know...the usual.”

“Well,” 2D begins. “You’re probably going to laugh at me. I was trying so hard to be cool that night, I spent the better half of that day trying to come up with something that might impress you and for some reason I thought showing you the merry-go-round would be it.” 

“You built and designed its organ. I remember you telling me about that…”

“Yeah, and you were plastered for a good bit of the evening. I remember you were a little beat up because of a...nasty bar fight. You were in a sour mood.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I can believe that but...did I mention anything odd?” He hesitates, unsure if he want to know the answer. “About woods or...lights?”

2D thinks. “You would ramble about all sorts of things. Now that I think about it...you were pointing out towards the fields quite a bit, but you kept calling it the woods. I had to tell you there weren’t any woods there anymore…”

So that part of the memory had been true. Suddenly, he thinks he’s lost his appetite. “What happened after that?”

“Oh, uh, I asked if you were still interested in seeing more of my organ and you called me a pervert. That was embarrassing. Then we walked around the rides and I tried talking to you about how their constructions which you weren’t too keen on. The I made some suggestions about sounds we could sample which you liked. Then we went back to my place and I offered to let you stay over...but you left while I was in the bathroom.” 2D gazes out at the water as it laps against the boats in the dock. “You were a mystery to me back then, too.” 

“That memory? That's what I saw back at the hotel room...sans the ending.” Murdoc pushes the last of the fish around with his fork. “I can’t figure out why it showed me that.”

“That’s why we’re going to ask an expert,” 2D says.

“Yes. A real expert.  _ Not _ Russel and Noodle.” 

“You don’t seem to care for them too much these days.” 

“It’s hard to care about people who have given up on you.” He pulls out a beer had been storing in his pocket. “Noodle stopped trying to text me weeks ago. Russel...I don’t know if he ever tried.”

2D watches him as he drinks. “Do you ever think that it’s the other way around?”

“What do you mean?” Murdoc looks at him quizzically. 

“Maybe they think you’ve given up on them,” 2D says. “You said it yourself - you’re an arse and you’re confusing. They only knew you were unhappy...yet nothing we were doing was getting through. Then you left. How would you feel if you were them?”

“Yeah? Then you left too. How do you think _ that _ ‘felt’?”

“That’s not the point,” 2D says. “You know Russel thought you’d be really excited about that documentary? When his friend called he had only suggesting talking to Russel, but it was Russel’s idea to invite the rest of us.” He digs around the bottom of the can with his fork. “When you yelled at him that day...you hurt his feelings.”

Murdoc has to bite his tongue to keep from bursting out into laughter. As far as he was concerned Russel had never cared about his thoughts or input about anything. The drummer’s frequent glares, jabs and weary sighs in response to everything he did made it obvious enough. 

“It isn’t funny,” 2D says. “He’s always been worried about his connection to Brooklyn and our fans in Brooklyn since he joined the band. He worries about how our wealth affects his authenticity in the eyes of local artists there. You brought all of those worries and threw them in his face in front of his friend and then left. Then you LEFT left.”

“My dad died. My brother was up my arse. I was in a shit mood, obviously.” He winces remembering how hopelessly trapped he felt that day. “Worse than usual.”

“But we didn’t know.”

“And you didn’t need to know. I was giving you all the clear signs not to bother me. If you didn’t want to get your feelings hurt you should have left me alone.”

“I’m just saying that you can hurt people, too,” 2D says. “And maybe if we had known...you wouldn't feel so alone in this.” 

“It wasn’t - and isn’t - any of their business. It wasn’t any of  _ your _ business.” Murdoc takes another drink of beer before tossing the can at a hovering gull. It misses and hits a jet ski docked only a few feet away and hits the water with a tiny splash.

“Well…” 2D says. “Has it really been so bad…having me around?” 

His throat tightens and he keeps his eyes focused on the water. “No,” he says quietly. “...it hasn’t.” He knows he doesn’t have to say anymore for 2D to understand what he means.  _ I wouldn’t have gotten this far without you _ . Not wanting to dwell on the awkward silence any further he crumples up the foil that was holding his food and sighs. “Anyhow good chat but I think it’s best we get going.” He hesitates. His shoulder throbs. “I..uh..haven’t been feeling too well today…”

“Okay,” 2D says. “But...can I ask you one more thing?” 

“Fire away.” 

“Can we, uh, call a truce and not be mad with each other?” he asks. “Or do you still not trust me anymore?”

“I don’t trust anyone.” Murdoc dusts the crumbs off of his pants and stands up. “But...with you...I’m getting there.” He was trying. The suspicion was still eating at him but reminds himself of what 2D had been to him since he followed him to Stoke-on-Trent. “More than anyone else,” he continues. “How could I not? You’ve seen me in enough humiliating situations that I-” he lets out a surprised gasp when 2D pulls him into an awkward side-hug.

“Okay,” 2D mumbles into his hair. Murdoc can almost feel his smile, if that was even possible.“Truce it is.” 

* * *

 

The address they’re given takes them deep into the wetlands and away from civilization as Murdoc knows it. The gray clouds give the Spanish moss hanging off the branches of the Cypress trees an eerie and otherworldly feel. To him, it’s unsettling. 

And still his shoulder aches. 

“Hey, Murdoc.” Conversely, 2D is in good spirits. He turns the radio down. “How do you think the fans would like it if on our next album I started doing what some of these blokes on the radio where they sign their name at the beginning of each song? You know how Jason Derulo sings  _ Jason Derulooo _ ? I could sing something similar like  _ Twooo Deeee _ .” He stops. “Okay...maybe it needs some work before I do it in public.”

Murdoc squints at the GPS. The address is  visibly on the map but he doesn’t see any roads leading towards it. The road they’re driving on is flanked by trees and marsh. How they’ll be able to find this address and where they would be able to park far from clear. 

“Maybe I could whisper it instead...instead of singing it,” 2D says. “Because it sounds weird when I try to stretch it out.  Or I could add in like, a stutter, but in a cool way, not in an uncool way. Like ‘T-t-t-two D.’”

“I’ll take living long enough to make a next album,” Murdoc says. “Whatever else you want to do, I don’t care.”

“In two miles, your destination will be on the left,” says the voice navigation on Google maps. 

2D’s face conveys his disappointment in Murdoc’s response clearly. “You know...I don’t like it when you talk like that.”

As Murdoc expected, all he sees when they reach the road is more of the same - road and trees and marshland. He ends up pulling over into the grass in order to park. 

“Your destination is on the left.” 

“Where?!” Murdoc exclaims. He sees trees and more trees and nothing that resembles a house. 

“There’s a trail over there.” 2D points ahead of them. Sure enough, when Murdoc focuses on the direction he’s pointing, he sees it as well. The thought of hiking through the woods for an unknown distance of time unsettles him.

_ Trust _ , he reminds himself.  _ Trust and compromise. _ “Alright,” he says, reaching for his bag carrying the grimoire and journal. “I guess we try that.”

The trail turns out to be a raised, yet worn wooden path. Wooden stilts raise the path a few feet off the ground, likely to control for flooding. But from the amount moss and weeds growing on and surrounding it, Murdoc infers it was built some time ago and that the water has likely risen beyond it more often than not. Occasionally, they have to take larger steps to avoid areas of missing floor board that hadn’t been replaced. The ground around them isn’t too wet and when he almost trips for a fourth time he considers skipping the path altogether.

2D raises his phone up. “It’s really pretty here,” he says. 

_ Eerie _ , is all Murdoc can think. The moss hangs on the branches of the trees around them like cobwebs. And the woods are unnaturally quiet. He doesn’t hear any birds or forest animals. “Pretty is one way to describe it.” He shudders.

“Pretty,” 2D says. “But not very convenient...I’m not getting any signal out here.” 

It takes another fifteen minutes before water surrounds the path entirely. A one story wooden shack is at the end. If Murdoc has been hiking on his own he would never have guessed that it was habitable from how flimsy the wood looks and how it appears to be floating on the river. Only the smoke coming from the chimney suggests any sign of life. 

What’s even more surprising is the woman who emerges in the doorway. Unlike the other contacts they had spoken to, she looks no older than forty and she regards them with a knowing smile. “I hear you’ve been looking for me,” she says. 

“Are you Ava?” 2D asks. “How...did you know?”

“I am,” she says. “And I’ve been expecting you for awhile now, Murdoc. Welcome to my home.” 

“Never mind that,” Murdoc begins. He doesn’t want to know how she could have possibly known who he was or what they were doing. “What we’re here for is-”

“I like your house.” 2D blurts out. “It’s very, uh, buoyant and uh, secluded. It was a nice walk from the road. How did you know to expect us?”

“This home was my grandparents.’” she says. “They were part of the last water-locked community in this area...they died out sometime in the 50s, but I stayed.” She motions to the path. “With a few adjustments. As for my how I knew you were coming - listen. Do you here how quiet the forest is? It knew of your arrival. I was also notified by an old friend.” Then she laughs. “ You were also mentioned in a magazine headline I saw during a visit to town.”

Murdoc’s stomach drops. “Shit.” Is all he can say. “Shit, shit, shit…”

“It’s okay, Murdoc.” 2D rests his hand on his shoulder. “Last I checked they were only rumors about you and possibly me working on a surprise album. You were spotted in New York but nowhere else that I’ve read.”   


Murdoc freezes, livid. “You knew?!”

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal…there isn’t anything about where we’ve been since then.” 

“Knowing that people are recognizing us -  _ me _ \- is kind of bloody big deal, 2D.” For once, it isn’t the kind of attention he wants. All he can think about is Russel and Noodle reading the tabloids and connecting the dots and finding them. There were too many threats he was trying to evade, and even though he knows how different they are, he fears them equally. The realization brings about a sadness in him. 

“I’m sorry,” 2D says to him. “I didn’t think you needed anything else to worry about…”

“I don’t…” Murdoc grips the strap of his bag, mentally pushing aside the new wave of anxious thoughts. He needs to focus. “You’re...right. I don’t...but it’s pertinent that I know these things so I know what preventative action to take.” It wasn’t the time to blow up at 2D again.    
  
“All you’ve done is make me disguise myself,” 2D says. “You haven’t been doing anything.” He takes the baseball cap off his head and places it on Murdoc. “Maybe  _ you _ need to wear the hat.”

He has a point. “Get that off of me!” Murdoc takes the cap off anyways and puts it back on 2D. “No one is here to see us anyways.”

“I’m sorry,” 2D says to the woman. She’d been waiting for them patiently as they bickered. “We came here because we were told you might be able to help us with some of Murdoc’s...stuff.” He turns to Murdoc. “Do we tell her the whole story or…?”

“All you need to know is that my mum spent a few years around here and dabbled in some magic she wasn’t supposed to to help me. But now I don’t know where she is or if she’s alive and I have to fix everything.” He shifts the bag from his left shoulder to his right. “There’s a grimoire, a journal about ravens with some summoning chants...some other items. I tried to use them this morning but I, er, didn’t get the most ideal results.” 

She studies the bag from where she stands. “Why don’t you come inside.” 

She has them sit at a wooden table in the center of the room. It’s a tiny home, so tiny that 2D has to crouch slightly to even get in the doorway. Inside her home is small and damp inside and every movement seems to cause the entire home to sway in the current. Murdoc sets the bag on the table before sitting down.

“So you know he’s Murdoc and I’m 2D,” 2D says. “Do you listen to our music? Do you like it?”

“I don’t listen to the radio,” she replies from the other side of the room where she’s stirring a pot at the stove.

“We aren’t really played on the radio,” 2D replies.

She ignores his comment.  “Would either of you like some tea? Or stew?”

“Both,” 2D says.

“Neither,” Murdoc says almost at the same time. 

“Are you sure, Murdoc?” 2D asks. “It’s almost dinner time.” 

Murdoc pulls another beer out of the bag and sets in on the table. “I’ve got all I need for the moment.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” she says as she brings the food over on a makeshift wooden tray. As she sits she places her hand on the bag and asks, “Is it alright if I take a look?” 

Murdoc opens the beer and nods his head. 

“Okay...look,” 2D holds his phone up to him while she works. “This is the most recent story that comes up when you search ‘Gorillaz.’” But when Murdoc looks all he sees is a blank page.

“Oh, wow,” he says, sarcasm in his voice. 

2D tilts the screen back towards him. “Still loading, huh? My connection is really slow out here but it’s a  _ Rolling Stone _ article about our secret album. Well, there is no secret album but that’s what they think. Oh here we go! It says - ‘Secret Gorillaz album in the works for 2022? Mysterious sighting of Murdoc Niccals in New York leave fans with questions.’ And that was last week.”

“How does me being in New York suggest anything about a new album? Who’s feeding these people this stuff? For all they know I went there to visit old friends or just because I wanted to. Why does everything have to mean a new album?”

“Could Gorillaz being joining the ranks of Beyoncé, Drake, Eminem and other noteworthy predecessors in planning a surprise album? Recent sightings of Murdoc Niccals in New York have some music bloggers saying ‘yes,’” 2D reads. And later on it says “...Comments from the rest of the band have ranged from evasive to silent. In a response to a question on her most recent Instagram post guitarist Noodle stated, ‘we thought he was in Spain.’” 

“Oh right,” Murdoc says. “I forgot about that.” 

“They’re arguing in the comments,” 2D says. “This one is calling you a selfish twat. And this other one says maybe you’re working on a solo project. And…” he pauses. “Oh...they’re arguing over whether it’s me in this video or not. This person replied saying, ‘Murdoc and 2D vacationing in New York together? And quarreling? Gay.’” 

In his head Murdoc oscillates between coming up with a new plan to keep them disguised to panicking about what was being said, what fans could be theorizing about and who else he should worry about looking for them besides Russel and Noodle. Did Noodle really think he was in Spain up until a week ago? He doubts it. It’s all almost enough to make him forget the persistent pain in his shoulder.

2D taps his phone to open the video. “Oh...oh okay...it looks like somebody filmed us fighting in New York...but it’s got bad sound quality and you can’t really see me. It just looks like you’re yelling for no reason which is normal  for you so I think we’re okay for right now.” 

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” Ava says. “But I have some questions for you, Murdoc.” 

Murdoc gulps. “Oh...okay…”

“Your mother left these behind for you?” 

“He’s cursed,” 2D says. “He’s been cursed ever since he was a baby and his mum was trying to help him but they were separated. Then his father, who was a cunt, died and we went to clean out his house. Murdoc found some letter from his mum in the closet and we decided to try and find her but in doing that I think we accidentally reawakened a curse from another dimension that started between his parents before he was born. He starting to see a shadow following him. So now we’re trying to stop that too. He’s going to be angry at me for telling you this but I thought you’d like to know.” 

Murdoc doesn’t fight him this time. Instead he takes a long drink of his beer. “I don’t care anymore, 2D. What does it matter? Anyhow, the last place we went the old bird told me I needed to look for clues because Mum has likely been leaving them around for me for awhile.” He runs his hand gently over his stuffed bear. “Some of the items like this one we think are meant to be protective in some way...she also worked with bones. I’ve never read bones but this morning I thought, ‘what the hell’ and gave it a go…”

“You don’t typically read bones using someone else’s throwing items,” she says. “A close bond with the pieces is necessary. How can you know what they’re saying if you don’t know them?”

“Hell if I know. I was trying to figure out what’s been chasing me,” Murdoc grumbles. “But you’re right, I couldn’t read anything so I used her journal and uh, called her raven - well, my raven now - to the room and he showed me a memory.” 

“It looks as if your mother forged a special bond with the birds. But I’m surprised they’re coming to you so easily.”

“And he showed me a memory, but the ending was all cocked up.” Outside he hears the dull roar of thunder. “I have a lot of bad dreams,” he says quietly. “And at the end of the memory...was a monster.”

She studies him. “How long have you been having nightmares?” 

“...For as long as I can remember. Unless I pass out completely plastered they’re usually there.” 

“Is it always of the same monster?” 

Murdoc drinks his beer. His dreams ranged from hyper-realistic simulations of old memories to the monster. Sometimes they overlapped. Those were usually the worst and he’d usually go on two or three day benders to avoid sleeping after that. “When they involved monsters, it’s usually the same one.” 

“Was there anything different about the memory? Like seeing a person you forgot about or a series of events that happened in the wrong order?”

“The monster was there,” Murdoc says. “At the end. I was running from it and I tripped and then…” he remembers the blood and the burning. “It grabbed me and it felt real,  _ scary _ real...and I don’t use that word lightly. Then I was back in the room.” 

“It  _ was _ real,” 2D adds. “Murdoc was bleeding. He didn’t notice at first because we were...uh...nevermind. But then he DID notice...and I noticed. I’m very worried now because what if it starts attacking him through his mind like that all the time? There wouldn’t be anything I could do to help.”

“The monster in your dreams is this shadow that’s following you then,” she says. “And your memories are trying to tell you something.” 

“I hardly remember anything,” Murdoc says. “Listen. I don’t usually say things like this out loud but considering the circumstances, I will. I spent the greater part of my adult life drunk off my arse or high on drugs, barely functional but good at faking it. No one believes anything I say because  _ I _ hardly believe anything I say I-”

“But you do remember,” she interrupts. “You’ve been remembering events this entire time. Usually for comfort but in other instances they’re intrusive.” She sighs. “A good friend of mine once said that there are never other people in our dreams. Everything we see are simply different representations of ourselves. Memories aren’t quite the same but they’re similar because how you remember, your perception can tell you a lot about yourself.” She holds out her hand. “Can you take my hand?”

Murdoc stares but doesn’t move. “Why?” 

“I’d like to try get a sense of your energy. It can also be a practice in reading bones - to truly listen to them, you have to place yourself in a meditative state like I’m going to ask you to do shortly.”

“Can we use my app?” 2D asks.

He has his reservations but he places his hand in hers anyways and he feels a stabbing pain in his back.

“We won’t be needing an app,” she says. “Murdoc, I want you to close your eyes and try to just focus on the feel of my hand and your own breath. And listen, listen and see if you hear anything, or if any vision comes to you.” 

_ It’s the clinking of glass clinking together as his shifts his body that he notices. Then it’s the heat of 2D’s breath mingling with his and leaving him dizzy, his forehead warm against his. He shivers when the singers fingers toy with his hair. They’re in the sand, the glass, empty bottles of beer.  _

_ Murdoc laughs.  _

_ “What?” 2D asks. His face is so young yet his eyes seem to carry the secrets to years of wisdom and Murdoc can’t seem to break their eye contact. _

_ “You’re eyes...funny.” The dizzying effect of the alcohol is all too familiar. “I see things...” _

_ 2D keeps them close. “What do you see?” He sounds slightly amused. _

_ “Pink,” Murdoc chuckles again. “Lot of pink...sand and bottles and bottles of plastic...pink beaches. And I rule them all. Me. King. You and me...on a beach. Do you see it?”   
_

_ It’s 2D’s turn to laugh. “No, I, uh can’t say that I do. You’re really are pretty drunk aren’t you? What are you talking about?” Behind him something flashes, once and then a second time, and then a third. “It would be kind of lonely if it was just you and I on a beach. Jamaica is nice...but not for forever.” _

_ “Well are you lonely now?” Murdoc gives him a lopsided grin. The flashing returns. “Do...do you see that?” He expects to hear thunder next but it doesn’t come. Only the crashing of the waves in the distance fill the silence.  _

“No!” Murdoc’s eyes snap open and he lurches away from the table. “Th-that’s not how it went. I never said that...I never saw…”

“It’s no wonder he worked so hard to make you doubt yourself,” she says, unphased. “You see more than the average person but he’s made it so hard for you to look back that now you do his job for him. You walk between worlds the same way many of us walk from room to room. Was there something similar in the memory you saw this morning?”

He doesn’t know why she’s asking him that when he’s sure that she already knows. Inside, his stomach twists and his pulses quickens. “I blather on like that all the time. I have no idea what I’m talking about...I’m a liar...I’m just a liar.”   


“I know you’re only trying to help,” 2D says to her. “But please go slowly with Murdoc because when he gets upset like this he usually runs away. And that’s fine with me because I have really long legs and I can run faster than he can on his short legs but it’s, uh, raining this time and I like your tea a lot and - ”

“Murdoc,” she says. “I need you to listen to me. Do you have the book with you?” 

Murdoc motions towards the table, frustrated. “They’re on the table!” 

“No, I’m talking about the book about you. You’re on every page. You’ve been there from the beginning. Does that sound familiar?”

“NO!” Murdoc pushes away from the table and stands up. It results with jolt of pain running through his back. An urgent tapping on glass brings his attention to the window. He sees the raven there, flapping its wings.

_ Danger. _

“I...I can’t do this…” he mutters as he starts to pace. How could he have been so stupid and follow 2D into the woods when his body had been warning him for the past two days? 

“Come on, Muds,” 2D pleads. But he sounds so far away. “Let’s listen to what she has to say.” 

“You came here for help figuring out what’s happening to you,” she says. “And I think we’re close to something, Murdoc. And I think you know what book I’m talking about.” 

He does and he hates that he does. It had washed up on the beach in 2010 and he read it and it terrified him. “I was drunk!” His voice cracks. “I  _ didn’t know _ what I was seeing back then!”

“As difficult as it is to remember, you’re going to have to try either here with me now or on your own.” she continues calmly. “Those memories are coming to you for a reason, and you have limited time.”

His chest is tightening and the pain in his back almost causes him to collapse. Still, the raven taps and taps. He remembers what Dorothy told them days earlier. It wasn’t safe for him and he had to leave. 2D could be disappointed with him or angry with him all he wants. He dashes out of the door without another word.

Outside the rain is relentless as is pelts him. He hears the raven screech in the distance as he starts to run along the wooden path, going as fast he can even as his hair, heavy with precipitation, mats against his forehead and obscures his vision.   


The wood creaks and sways under his weight. Out of the corner of his eye he can see water collecting around the wooden stilts holding the path and he quickens his pace, chest heaving. 

_ Muuurdoc, _ the voice is distant but sinister. It passes through the trees and the moss as it sways in the wind.

_ Just the wind, _ he tells himself.  _ Just the wind. You aren’t dreaming. You’re awake. _

_ Muuuurdoc, _ the voice says, louder. For a second, he thinks he sees a shadowy form amidst the trees.  _ Muuuurdoc, _ it calls again even louder.

If he just focused long enough he could make it the car.  _ Just make it to the car.  _

Then it’s there, right beside his ear, closed enough that he can feel the rush of air as it whispers harshly,  _ I see you!  _

Beneath him, there’s a loud crack as his foot breaks through one of the wooden boards. He hits the path with enough force to crack more of the of the floorboards. The fall leaves his left leg and left arm dangling down on the ground, now close to being fully flooded, beneath him. It takes him a second to find his breath again and start to scramble to pull himself up. 

But the wood is old and slippery, and it isn’t able to endure his panicked struggling. As he bears weight down on his knee to push himself up, another board breaks, leaving both of his legs off the path and in the water.  _ It’s okay, _ , he tells himself.  _ It isn’t that deep. It’s not the end of the world _ .

_ Muuuurdoc. _

The pain in his back intensifies and he whimpers as he tried to pull himself up anyways. And he’s almost successful.

_ Muuuurdoc. _

Something grips his ankle and tugs. Hard. It’s sharp and burning. He screams in pain and fear, nails raking at the wood as it tries to pull him down further into the water.

_ Muuuurdoc. Come home. _

_ It’s not real, _ he tries to tell himself. But it pulls him again and he sobs as another board holding him up breaks. 

_ Not real. Not real,  _ he thinks, remember Dorothy telling him how his thoughts could work against him.

“Not real,” he says aloud, voice trembling. He’s interrupted by his own pained cry when it drags him down. “Not real,” he sobs, gripping the charms on his necklace, unsure that it would help but desperate for anything. “Not real. Not real. Not-”

And the final board holding him breaks.

_ He’s looking into 2D’s eyes again. The singer doesn’t answer his question this time. Instead, he tilts Murdoc’s head back further and tentatively places his lips on his. The gesture catches him by surprise but he’s in good spirits and allows his mouth to go slack, ushering in the other man’s tongue. Encouraged, 2D kisses him gently for a few brief moments and pulls away. “Is this okay?” he asks. “Are you mad?”  _

_ “Mmmm,” Murdoc looks at him with unfocused eyes. “That’s nice...but don’t you see them?” As if on cue, the flashing returns. He can see it out of the corner of his eye hovering over the ocean.  _

_ “See what?” 2D asks. “There really isn’t much to see with it being so dark and all...if you didn’t like the kissing, you can tell me.” _

_ Murdoc laughs and leans his forehead against his again. “I’m...I’m, uh, pretty fucked up right now aren’t I?” He pinches 2D’s cheek. “But...I like you.” _

_ He can see 2D turn red at his comment. “I, uh, like you too. You know, when we first met...that night...I’ve been thinking about that-”  _

_ “Look over there.” Murdoc points towards the water. He doesn’t know how 2D can’t see how bright they are. They’re right there, not jagged like lightning but circular and intermittent. “What do you see?” _

_ “Uhhh…” 2D squints, putting forth his best effort to find the response Murdoc is looking for. “I, uh, see sky. And water….and more water.” He looks back at Murdoc, at a loss. “What do you see?”  _

_ Murdoc stares at the ocean in a daze. Either 2D was messing with him or he was drunker than he’s ever been in his life. “I see…” he hiccups. “...lights.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise this will all tie together at the end. So, in case the dialogue at the end wasn't clear enough, yes, they were talking about the Plastic Beach book, and those final flashbacks were some more about Jamaica. So much to fit! (fffff and sorry there was not room for sex this time) I'll pick up with all of that next chapter. Thank you for your patience <3
> 
> Thank you to 1966jpg, art-crusader, bee-fae, basiliskblues, sashkash, mokairu and paleimitatorz on tumblr for fanart that made me cry <3 bless. 
> 
> As always thoughts/feedback are greatly appreciated and help me out a lot!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Brief but possibly triggering flashback to sexual assault at the beginning, then some discussion later.

_ For a moment, everything is dark. Then he hears them. Voices. Fuzzy and dim, laughing. He can’t see who they are or what’s going on but the sick feeling in his stomach tells him they’re laughing at him. There’s a cruel tone to their laughter. He isn’t safe. _

_ But it’s still so dark and he doesn’t know where he is.   _

_ Then he feels it. Weight. Weight on his chest, legs, face, everywhere. And when he tries to move it only feels heavier. Weight and then heat. It’s hot where he is, humid.  _

_ Beneath him, he hears creaking. Whatever is on top of him move and he moves with it, heading hitting something hard, a wall probably, with a dull thud. And again. Thud.  _

_ Then the pain registers. It comes with each movement and each thud. And he wants to scream but it feels like he’s suffocating. The laughter around him only increases and he barely makes out a few low whispers. _

_ Thud, thud, thud. It’s a rhythm, and all too familiar rhythm. _

_ The more he tries to get away, the more the weight bears down on him, the more it hurts him in places he doesn’t want to think about right now. And the heat just gets worse. He’s burning. _

_ The pressure concentrates in his chest for reasons unknown to him. It’s still so dark, and as his head hits the wall over and over and over again, he wonders if he’s in hell. _

Then he’s awake.

Water pours out of his mouth as a frantic 2D presses down on his chest again and again. And he coughs and retches and struggles to get his bearings, eyes wide and heart racing. It isn’t dark anymore but the vision had felt so real. He can’t tell which one was the dream. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” 2D’s yelling at him, sounding angrier than he’s heard him be since New York. But he still sounds so distant. “Why, Murdoc?! You can’t do that! You can’t fucking do that!” But even as he yells at him, he runs his hand along his face. His movements are panicky, but gentle as he assesses him.

But whatever mix of emotions 2D is experiencing matters little to Murdoc in the moment. Every time 2D touches him if feels like his skin is burning and his stomach twisting like he needs to throw up. But when he tries to speak all that leaves his tongue are more coughs and panicked gasping. He still doesn’t think he can breathe.

“I was so worried,” 2D says, placing a series of kisses on his forehead and along his face. “I thought I’d lost you...don’t  _ do  _ that to me!...Please.” He’s about kiss him on the mouth when Murdoc harnesses enough control over himself to turn his head away. 

He knows he’s not safe. It’s all coming back to him. He knows something grabbed him and tried to drag him down into the water, and that it’s still out there. “Where is it?!?” He yells as he tries to scramble to his feet. The sudden swaying knocks him back down and all he sees around him is water. He realizes at that point that he’s in a boat. A tiny boat. 

“I h-have to go,” he stammers as he looks in every direction in a desperate search for an escape route. “Stu...I have to go.” His breath quickens again. “I have to go, I have to-”

The next thing he hears is a soft, quivering melody. He turns to 2D and sees him staring back at him,  humming. Then, for a brief moment, his mind goes blank. 

When he comes to, he’s lying on his back in that same boat with 2D sitting beside him.There’s a light rain still falling and he feels the droplets as they hit his face. Nothing has changed, but for some reason he feels less terrified and more in control of his breathing. 

“They’re theremin noises,” he hears 2D’s voice explaining in the background. “They calm him down when he gets all jittery like that. I don’t know what it is about them but we were writing a song one day and I was trying to explain a sound I wanted to add and made the noise and he zonked out mid conversation. I thought he died then, too, but he was alright. It’s worked every time since then.”

Murdoc groans and rubs his head. “I missed the part where we decided to go on a cruise. This isn’t what I’d call ideal weather for it.” For good measure he shoots a glare at him.

“See?” 2D says to Ava. “He’s probably going to be angry with me for a bit now, but I’m used to it.” Then he addresses Murdoc. “And we didn’t,” he says. “Not until you decided to run away...again. I was looking all over for you. When we found you floating face down in the river a little over that way.” He points in the direction he’s speaking about but Murdoc doesn’t bother looking. “I thought you were dead.” 

Murdoc squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers what happened. Most of all he remembers the burning, before and after it grabbed him. Wincing, he works up the courage to examine his left foot where it grabbed him and has to hold back a gasp. 

The bottom of his pants are tattered and his boot is completely gone. Four jagged gashes run along the outer side of his foot and a fifth across the arch. And they burn.  _ I have to leave, _ he thinks to himself.  _ Before it comes back. _

“He almost was,” he hears her say. She eyes his necklace. “You were smart to wear that charm. I take my own precautions when protecting this land from negative energies, so it was never welcome here in the first place but that charm may have saved you. And listen, you can hear the birds again.” Indeed, there were sounds of chirping and life in the tree around them.

“Yeah I’ve heard that one before,” Murdoc says quietly, still staring wide-eyed at his foot.

“It’s strong magic that's following you,” Ava says. “When people come so close to their end they sometimes see things. Tell me, did it show you anything?”

2D rests a hand on his arm and rubs it, encouraging him. In his head, it’s a mess of confusing emotions and brain signals. One part of his mind tells him 2D is comforting him, and a part of his yearns for that comfort. But that same mind, his mind, also reminds him of the laughing and the weight and the thud of his head against the wall. 

_ But I know better than that, _ he tells himself.  _ It’s just 2D.  _ But it doesn’t go away and he wants to cry or hit something out of frustration with himself. Right when he was beginning to get used to those touches he was sent back to square one. 

“No,” he finally answers. It’s a lie but he can’t talk about it, not with his foot bleeding and 2D’s hand on his arm. 

“Murdoc,” 2D examines him. “You look like you’re in pain.” 

Murdoc doesn’t say anything and looks away from him. 

“That’s because he probably is,” she says for him. “It left its mark.”

Murdoc watches as 2D’s expression goes from confused to disbelief to horror once his eyes land on his ankle.  He doesn’t say anything, but Murdoc can read his face well. It’s all starting to become too much for him. He, Murdoc, is becoming too much for him. He sits up, wincing.

“Do you know who sent it after you?”

“No,” he says. “Apparently it happened before I was born when Mum was still living in Peru. She started seeing a shadow in the village and she left...Now I’m seeing it too. The old bird we chatted with last told me to collect these.” He holds up his necklace. “And to look for them at each stop. But for what? They’re a bandaid. They protect me but they don’t make it go away.” 

They dock the boat at the house. It’s at that point that Murdoc realizes that it hurts to put weight on his foot. He has to lean on 2D and hop on his good foot to get back in the house. It’s humiliating and leaves him feeling vulnerable.

“I don’t know many who practice magic in the South,” Ava says once they’re seated. She’s putting something together at the counter, but Murdoc can’t make out what exactly it is. “But a shadow...sounds familiar. It’s seeking something it was owed. All of those who I know tell me they leave offerings for the entities they speak to...some more significant than others. They wouldn’t dare disrupt that balance because there’s a belief that the spirit will retaliate.”

“It’s trying to kill him,” 2D says. He hasn’t broken contact with him since the boat ride and grips his hand under the table. “Does that mean…?”

“I don’t know,” she says, looking at Murdoc. “What did it show you, Murdoc?” 

“I...I just want it to stop...” 2D says. “I’m not used to seeing him so afraid.”

Again, Murdoc looks away from them. Other than to torture him and damage his relationship he doesn’t have the faintest idea why he was placed back in that nightmare. Even as they sit at the table he struggles to fight off the hypervigilance and sick feeling in his stomach that it left with him. It’s as if whatever was after him knew what scared him and was exploiting it. “There’s no point,” he says. “It’s caught up with me. The second we leave something else will happen, I’m certain of it. And what then?” He can feel 2D’s eyes on him, worried yet scrutinizing. 

“Murdoc,” she says. She’s pouring some sort of tea into a cup now. “You’re trying to say that you don’t want help. Am I correct?”

“I’ll find out as much as I can about her before it gets me. And that will be the end,” he replies. “I don’t know what else i’m supposed to do...” He trails off.  _ And I’m tired.    
_

“You want help,” she finished his sentence for him. She looks closely at him as she sets a tea cup down in front of him. “I can see it in your eyes. You reveal a lot through your eyes, but you try to hide it. You’ve survived this long by hiding haven’t you, Murdoc? Well, it’s time to consider new survival skills because you aren’t living that old life of yours any longer. You can’t afford to. And you know this. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t and you wouldn’t have brought along a friend. You’re reaching out, but you’re going to have to reach out a little further.”

Murdoc is quiet and looks down. He isn’t going to tell them. Maybe he could tell them something else, but he wasn’t going to tell them  _ that. _

“Well,” 2D says while he’s thinking. “Technically I’m not a friend. Murdoc and I are dating.” 

“Okay,” she says, unphased. 

“No, actually, I’m definitely still his friend,” 2D continues. “Because you can date and still be friends. I guess once you’re dating you become more like a super friend.” 

“You don’t have to tell everyone,” Murdoc grumbles. 

“I do,” 2D says. “Because we have to build up to when we tell everyone. Because we’re going to be dating for, uh, a bit after this is over…because you’re going to keep looking for help and you aren’t going to give up and we’re going to fix-” 

“Alright! Alright!” Murdoc yells at him. 2D had made his point. And as angry as his voice sounds, he still keeps his hand in 2D’s and 2D doesn’t let go. “You scared the shit right out of me earlier,” he says to her. “That book you mentioned hasn’t crossed my mind since the day I found it and, like I said, I thought it was all a dream or a hallucination anyways. So that was it. But…” He draws in a deep breath. “I think there’s a lot that I’ve seen that must have been more real than I knew at the time.” 

2D looks at him. “You mean like what you saw in the not-real woods at my family’s fairground?” 

“There were these lights,” Murdoc says. “They were scattered all in the trees in this memory I had. But none of it was actually there, at least according to this dolt here it wasn’t.”

“He was talking about woods that hadn’t been there in years.” 2D ignores his insult. “But he was also smashed that night and was rambling on about a lot of things. Murdoc does that a lot.”

“And when I ran out earlier, I saw them again in a memory I had of us…” Murdoc steals a quick glance in 2D’s direction. “It was when we were in Jamaica after we recorded our first album. You and I were sitting on the beach at night...after Russel and Noodle flew back to England.” 

Immediately 2D’s cheeks turn red and he tries to appear distracted. “Oh yeah, that was, uh, a really nice night...it showed you that? I’ve actually been wanting to talk about that, Muds.” 

“My point is that I’ve been seeing these lights throughout my life,” Murdoc says. “Right? Is that it?” Then it dawns on him. “And my mum…” He has to let go of 2D’s hand for this as he reaches for the bag he brought. “She mentioned them in one of these letters.” He flips through until he finds the one he’s looking for. “Here...here it is. She said the raven would show her.” He pulls out the letter he read when they stopped in Mississippi, “ _ Sometimes I follow him around and he shows me wonderful things. We see lights in the woods.” _ Then he drops it on the table. “S-so there you have it.” 

She stares at the letter silently. “Murdoc, do you what part of Peru your mother was from?” 

“She grew up in La Sierra.” The words sound strange coming off of his tongue. He has roots there, yet he still doesn’t feel at home with them, not emotionally and not even in a literal sense as the sound of his own accent and terrible pronunciation widens his distance from them in a way he can’t ignore. 

“I see,” she says, and walks over to a bookshelf in the corner of the room. There, she spends a few minutes examining the spines before pulling one out. “I don’t know a lot about that area of the country or the magic they practice,” she says. “But what you mention sounds familiar. Have you the Evil Light?”

Murdoc stares at her, expression blank. 

She sets the book on the table in front of them. The first thing he sees is a drawing of a swamp with lights floating over top of it. The description beneath it is all in Spanish. 

“It’s tied to a number of legends,” she says. “A lot of them aren’t native to your mother’s home, but it’s the closest thing I can come up with. They say the lights come out to lure people from their homes and into the danger of the water. Other stories tell of those who follow the lights to only to find human remains or ancient yet cursed artifacts, only to die shortly after. It’s believed that the lights are the spirits of souls who died before they repented for their wrongdoings, condemned to walk the earth forever…” 

“But,” 2D interjects. “Why would the raven be showing them to Murdoc’s mum? And why can he see them and I can’t?”

She sighs. “I fear what kind of magic she was involving herself with, Murdoc, if what she was doing was leading her to correspond with the souls of the unrepentant dead.” 

Murdoc chews the inside of his cheek nervously. “She was trying to help me,” he says. “My...my dad...did something out in the wilderness the night she told him she was pregnant. I don’t know what, she didn’t know what either, but it’s been after me.”

“You don’t make deals with the dead regardless. I don’t know that I could say what was after you out there was the result of your father or your mother. But one of them made a deal, broke it, and now it’s angry. It’s said that the lights were meant to be feared, but from what it sounds like, you may have to follow these lights yourself as those souls behind them may know your mother.” 

“That sounds dangerous,” 2D says. “I don’t know if I want him to do that.”

“Of course it is,” she says to him. “But these are the circumstances your ‘super’ friend is in.” She addresses Murdoc, “And you don’t have the book?”

“No,” Murdoc says. “I haven’t had since that one day, and the island is all gone now. It was destroyed by pirates.” 

“Do you remember what you read in it?” 

“It was about me…” Murdoc pauses. He knows how crazy it’s going to sound. “I...uh, it talked about me...living through...the entire history of the world. It was complete bollocks. I threw it away because if it was true then…I’d know, right? I grew up in England,  _ that _ I remember. I think I’d remember if there was more to it than that. ”

“You drink a lot,” she says. “How long have you been drinking?” 

Murdoc freezes. Perhaps in a different setting he’d smirk and say something like ‘since before you were born,’ but he’s tense and defensive, and he thinks he knows where her questioning is leading. “That’s none of your fucking business.” 

“He drinks and does drugs,” 2D says. “I think it’s best we leave it at that. Chances are Murdoc will end up talking about all he’s had to drink or he’ll share a story from when he was high on something sometime back in the day anyways.” 

“I ask because those substance alter our perception of reality. I’ve used them myself in controlled settings, because sometimes they can reveal truth about ourselves. But you seem to use with intent to make everything unclear. It’s like you’re self-sabotaging because, like I said earlier, you doubt yourself. You’re father encouraged that doubt didn’t he? You had easy access to those substances.” 

“What are you saying? That he was trying to get me to drink?” Murdoc scoffs. “That was the last thing he’d want me to do. Whenever I got into his liquor cabinet there was always hell to pay.”

“Perhaps we won’t know for certain.” She pushes the tea towards him. “Have a drink.”

Murdoc eyes her suspiciously. “Why?”

“It’s lavender tea. Good for stress and re-energizing the mind. It should ease that fear you have for a little while.”

Nodding, Murdoc takes the cup in his hands but doesn’t drink any of it. 

“I bring up your father because of these.” She motions towards the letters. “He was keeping all of these messages from your mother when he could have easily destroyed them. And I see now that they contain whispers of supernatural events. I believe these letters were meant to be followed and he must have needed them.”

“No.” Murdoc shakes his head as he tries to forget all of those nights his father came into his room to destroy his belongings and hurl his furniture around like he was looking for something. “No, he wouldn’t do that. He didn’t want anything to do with her...or me.” 

“But they were addressed to you,” she continues. “She wants you to follow them. He doesn’t. He may have been trying to get you to indirectly incapacitate yourself so that you would never follow them. Murdoc, I know you don’t have the book any longer, but from what you tell me I believe you walk closely with death, closer than the typical human. The next time you see those lights, follow them.” 

Nervous, Murdoc takes a large gulp of the tea without thinking. It burns slightly as it passes from his tongue to his throat.

“Because this entity lurks  corners of your thoughts and memories. I may not know a lot about the ghosts of South America, but those I do know of take and take and take when they aren’t appeased. I assume this one will also take from you if you allow it. You’re going to have to learn how to outsmart it.”

“Is there, uh, any way I can help him?” 2D asks. 

“I think you’re helping him in more ways than either of you realize,” she turns back to Murdoc. “You’ll have to move quickly from here onward. I’d drive as far as you can tonight.” She looks at his foot. “But before you go, let me help you with your injuries.”

She spends the next 15 minutes concocting a mixture of warm water and strangely colored herbs that she tells him will help close his wounds faster. It stings and leaves his foot feeling stiff and achy. Then she dries and dresses the wounds quickly while he tries to imagine himself anywhere else. 

“Do you think you can walk on it, Muds?” 2D asks him. 

“I can mana-” he stops, remembering that he no longer has a shoe for the injured foot. “...I’ll lean on you like I did earlier.” 

The path outside her home is broken, just as Murdoc remembers it. They follow it in her boat for as far as it can go before docking. “Good luck to both of you,” she says. “I’ll keep you in my thoughts.”

“No, thank you,” 2D says. “Murdoc says ‘thank you’ too.” 

They wait until she’s pulled away before heading down the path. Murdoc leans on 2D for and hops clumsily along for as long as he can bear it. However, they aren’t going very fast and the knowledge that he doesn’t have a lot of time edges into his mind. With no way to gauge how much time ‘not a lot of times’ meant, he finds himself anxious and irritated. But his physical limitations were what they were regardless of his emotions. He can only hop so fast. “This is bullshit,” he mutters, shivering. He had forgotten that his clothes were wet.

“What is?” 2D asks. “I think we’re almost there.” 

Murdoc looks ahead and sees nothing but more green. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” He’s starting to get tired and breathes in a gulp air through his mouth. “I can’t believe I listened to you. This walk has to have been at least mile off course.” 

“I think she helped us quite a bit,” 2D said. “I had completely forgotten about what you said in Jamaica...about the lights. And the beaches.” He’s quiet as he thinks. “Muds, do you think you were seeing the future?”

“And I think she didn’t. I nearly died,” he says, ignoring his question. “I nearly died,” he repeats again. “And now I can’t walk right so when it happens again I won’t even be able to get away.” His chest heaves as he tries to hop along faster but nearly trips over 2D’s foot. “Damn it.” 

“If you try to go too fast you’re going to fall again, we’ll both fall,” 2D says, seeming to understand that his avoidance meant not press further. “You know how easy it is for me to fall…”

“I don’t care!” Murdoc yells. “I was supposed to be outrunning whatever it is that’s following me and just hours ago it caught up and nearly dragged to the bottom of the river. It probably isn’t far now and if I don’t get out of these bloody woods…” he steals a glance over his shoulder and tries to quicken his pace again wishing desperately that he wasn’t injured. “Fuck!” he yells, frustrated when he’s unsuccessful. 

Suddenly, 2D stops. “Do you want to get on my back?”

“What?” Murdoc says as he catches his breath. 

“It’s like how it was at the end of  _ Lord of the Rings _ when Frodo couldn’t get up the mountain on his own and Sam said, ‘'I can't carry it for you, but I can carry you!’ Well, Murdoc, I can’t, uh, carry this curse or anything else for you but...I can carry you!” 

Murdoc stares at him, half mortified and half grateful. He doesn’t want to admit how tired he is. Physical activity had never been a point of focus and this long stretch of hopping has shown him just how out of shape he is. “You can’t carry me,” he pants. Then again, 2D wasn’t exactly a bastion of fitness either. “You couldn’t even lift up Noodle that one time she was ten and needed help getting a book off the shelf.” 

“That’s not why I couldn’t lift her, I carried her in out ‘Rockit’ video without any issue,” 2D says. “With the bookshelf I was really just too afraid of doing it wrong and dropping her…” the he adds, teasing, “I’m no so worried about dropping you.” 

“Wow, real chivalrous of you.” Murdoc rolls his eyes. 

“So is that a yes?” 2D asks. “I can give you a piggyback ride up the mountain of Mordor - I mean, along this path?”

Murdoc takes another look around the forest. In the distance, he hears birds chirping. Perhaps they were closer to the outside than he thought. “Alright, fine,” he says. It isn’t like anyone would see them. “But don’t call it that and don’t breathe a word about this to anyone.” 

“If you say so,” he laughs.  


2D proves to be a smoother ride that Murdoc would have expected, and they cover more ground than they would have had he continued to hop for about two, relaxing minutes. Then, 2D slows down, nearly breathless. “Hey, uh, Murdoc?” he asks. 

Murdoc buries his head in shoulder, already knowing what he’s about to say. “What?”

“You, uh, are going to have to get off...pretty soon if you don’t want to get dropped.” As he talks, Murdoc notices 2D’s grip on his legs loosening. “This was a little, um, more difficult than I thought it be. You’re a bit heavier than Noodle.” 

“Yeah, no shit,” Murdoc grumbles, sliding off. He balances on his one foot awkwardly until 2D loops his arm under his armpit to steady him. The sudden movement makes him nervous, but to avoid falling he resigns himself to enduring the contact. 

“It looked a bit cooler on  _ Lord of the Rings. _ ”

Thankfully, the end of the path isn’t too far away. Murdoc detaches himself from 2D and, unable to sprint, crawls towards the car as fast as he can. It’s getting dark and he doesn’t trust the woods to continue their hospitality. 

“Do you want me to drive?” 2D asks from behind him.

“No, I can do it,” Murdoc says, a dogged tone to his voice. He reaches up to the door handle and begins to pull himself up.

“Wait,” 2D says.

“I just waited an entire hike! We’ve finally reached the car and now I intend to leave this cursed fucking state as fast as this car will go.” He glances behind him at the path they just traveled and he swears he sees something shadowy glide past the trees. 

“Yeah, well, you’re clothes got my clothes wet and I want to change,” 2D argues. “And you look freezing yourself.”

“I don’t care about myself. I’d rather be cold than dead.”

“What about being recognized?” 2D says. That, Murdoc has to think about. “I was thinking about it while we were walking. It isn’t just about me. You have to blend in more too, Muds. Just give it fifteen minutes, and we can get this figured out, at least for today.” 

Murdoc lets out a frustrated noise but doesn’t protest any further. Instead, steadying himself by leaning on the car door, he hops towards the trunk where 2D has begun digging through their bags. He feels safer near him.  _ Yeah, and what is 2D going to do if that thing tries to get you again? _ He knows the answer to that is nothing and notices his hands shaking. Whether that’s from fear or lack of alcohol or both he doesn’t know. 

“I don’t think you should wear any more black,” 2D says. “Do you want the blue sweatshirt again?” He holds the garment out towards him. 

Murdoc pushes it away. “Not a chance. I looked ridiculous.” 

“Fine,” 2D says. “I’ll wear it then. But that just means you’ll have to pick something else.” He roots through the his suitcase until he finds a dry t-shirt that he likes. 

Murdoc grabs his own bag and unzips it. Unlike 2D, dry clothing isn’t what he’s looking for. He smiles when his hand lands on the bottle. It was just as he left it from their last liquor store stop and, even as he shivers from the cold, he pulls the plastic seal off with quivering hands and drinks. He feels it burn slightly as it goes down his throat, but he’s missed that feeling of warmth and guaranteed respite, if only for a brief few hours. 

“If you’re going to do that then how do you expect to drive?” 2D interrupts his reverie. 

“No, 2D, the actual question is how do I expect to drive if I  _ don’t _ do this.” He notices his shaking settling already. “I can’t drive if I’m nauseous or I can hardly stay still.” It had been hours since his first drink that morning and the now the sun was low in the sky.

2D’s eyes drift from him to the label. “That’s vodka. You can get smashed quick on that...If you’ve got to have that then I think it would be better if I drove.”

Murdoc frowns but weighs the ultimatum. “Deal,” he says, and takes another drink. They needed to get going. 

“Okay,” 2D smiles and nods and resumes his search for dry clothes. He eventually settles on a pale blue t-shirt and tosses it to the side away from the rest of his clothes. Then, he takes of the baseball cap and casually sheds his jacket and then his shirt. 

Murdoc watches him, taking in his lanky yet slightly toned frame and the way last rays of light in the sky hit his skin. This was 2D. He’s a little bit clumsy as he reaches for his dry shirt, and he’s a little bit odd looking with his missing teeth and dark eyes but he has the warmest eyes and kindest and most pleasant face Murdoc had ever come to know. And somehow, he was slowly becoming someone Murdoc felt a genuine, aching care towards. It isn’t something he’s used to, and his stomach turns in doubt and protest as he admits it to himself. He doesn’t want to doubt him. He takes another drink.

Noticing his gaze, 2D shoots him a goofy grin. “You like what you see?” He stands upright again, shirt in hand, to give Murdoc a full view. “You know ever since I started doing the yoga every day I’ve felt fitter than I ever have. I think it’s even starting to tone my arse. Finally.” 

Murdoc gives him a once over and smirks. “I’ll say.”

2D mirrors his expression. “Haven’t seen that smile in awhile.”

“I haven’t seen you strip down to your knickers in awhile.” It had only been two days, but it felt like too long. “It’s about bloody time.” He shifts in his seat, leaning back into the car as if to invite him closer. “And while we’re all out in the open,” he adds. “...And someone could see.” 

2D chuckles conspiratorially and takes a few steps towards him. “Oh, uh, well we can have that.” He stops once he’s standing right in front of him. “I guess I’ll just have to cover you.” And he stands there, expectant.

Murdoc reaches out his free hand and runs it down his chest until it reaches the waistline of his pants. He slips two fingers inside, smirk growing when he hears 2D’s breath hitch. Then he pulls. “So what are you waiting for then?” he whispers. 

Then 2D’s kissing him and Murdoc has his one of his hands and both of his legs hooked around him to keep from falling back into the trunk completely. He uses them to keep their bodies together. In his left hand, he maintains his grip on the vodka.

“So what do you think this tabloid will say?” 2D breathes against his cheek as they part momentarily. “‘2D caught snogging unknown man on the side of the road’?”

Murdoc runs his tongue along his jaw, digging his nails in his skin. This results with a groan from 2D that goes straight to the increasing heat in his pants. “Oh I don’t know. Who said it ended at snogging?” But as the words roll of his tongue he’s brought back to the darkness he was in when he had blacked out, and he hears the laughing and the mocking. He tries to push it away and rolls his hips into his, needy. “I need more of you,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. 

There’s a change in the tone of his voice he hears that he hopes 2D doesn’t notice, and he brings their mouths together again to prevent any further conversation. To his relief, 2D welcomes the contact. He runs his hand through his hair. Murdoc feels his fingers brush along his ear and along his neck and he shudders and kisses him more feverishly. 

His fingers stop at his shoulder. “I’d like to take this off,” 2D whispers. “If it’s alright with you.” Despite hearing his words, it takes a few moments for it to register in Murdoc’s head that 2D’s trying to get him to take his jacket off. 

That’s when the nausea returns. 

Murdoc’s first instinct is to take his jacket off regardless. After all, it’s basically what he had asked for only moments earlier. But as he makes a move to shrug the garment off he can feel his heart rate increasing and his chest start to tighten, and he knows that he can’t do it. Not with that memory so fresh in his mind. 

He continues kissing 2D anyways, in his head searching for some way to play it off, to end the moment causally. Without thinking, he lifts his other hand, still gripping the bottle and tries to redirect the hand pulling his jacket. “Stu,” he begins before falling backward, realizing as he falls that his hand was what was holding most of his weight.

It isn’t a hard fall, but his body his the floor of the trunk will a familiar dull  _ thud _ . The bottle isn’t too far behind, falling when in his shock, he loosens his grip on it.  _ Thud. _

Then he sees them. Faces. Twisted and ugly. His breath quickens and out of pure instinct his thrashes, pushing frantically, anything to get them away. But as soon as he sees them, they’re gone and all that’s there is 2D.

He’s three feet away from him now, still shirtless, just standing there, staring. 

Murdoc can’t hold his gaze for very long and looks away from him.  _ It isn’t right or wrong it just is, _ he tries to remind himself. That belief had come so easily to him days earlier but at the moment it’s infuriating him that nothing had changed. In fact, it had become worse, just as he feared it would when he woke on the boat. The trunk is damp with spilled vodka and it soaks into his already damp clothes and then his hands as he pushes himself up. But he doesn’t want to change them. The thought of taking any off his clothes off right now repulses him.

Without saying anything, he stands, taking in a few shaky breaths before beginning to hop towards the passenger’s side. He doesn’t look back. He just wants another drink.

2D doesn’t bother him about changing his clothes or cleaning up the trunk but he does bring a towel with him when he’s finished changing and offers it silently to Murdoc when he joins him in the front of the car. 

Murdoc’s already started on another bottle. This time it’s rum. “Thanks,” he says, still unable to look at the singer. As he wraps the towel around himself he feels ashamed. Nothing could change that. 2D could say whatever he wanted but Murdoc would still know he was hurting inside regardless of whatever platitudes he used on him. He doesn’t want to keep doing that to him and he doesn’t want to keep feeling so helpless against himself. But he doesn’t know how to fix it. 

They drive in silence with the exception of the sound of Murdoc drinking with the occasional hiccup or sniff interspersed sporadically. 

The sky is dark and Murdoc’s vision is blurry when he blurts out, “M’sorry.” 

“You...you don’t have to be sorry,” 2D says, eyes on the road. “You know that, Muds.” 

“You know what happened t’me, right?” Murdoc slurs on anyways. He can still feel the fear he has of talking about it, but it’s getting too hard to carry it around with him and too hard to always be so angry at himself and feel like his anger was misunderstood. 

“Yeah.” 2D’s voice is quiet. “I do.”

“No,” Murdoc says, resting his head on the window. “It didn’t just happen in prison...happened when I was nine.”

He can see 2D’s face twitch out the corner of his eye, trying to mask what Murdoc presumes is disgust at what he’s telling him. 

“...And maybe a few other times when I passed out at the pub by myself and woke up in strangers’ beds unsure of where I was. I can’t remember. But they’re counting that sort of thing these days too, aren’t they?” He doesn’t wait for 2D to answer that. “I try to think about this way - I tell myself that not remembering means I can make up anything I want and who can tell me otherwise?” he laughs lightly. “Not remembering is better than remembering. When you’re awake while it’s happening it’s...like hell….” He gulps and adds. “And that’s what I saw today...before you woke me up. Hell. One of many.” 

“I...I wish it never happened.” 2D’s voice quivers as he speaks. “None of it.” 

“Me too,” Murdoc says. “But it’s not your fault. Everything that’s wrong with me...s’not your fault. It’s my fucking fault.” He hits his head lightly against the window to punctuate the final three words of that sentence. The dull  _ thud, thud, thud  _ that results makes him want to open the door and fall out. It was such a common noise. It was the beat of a bass drum, a knock on the door. It was his very own pulse and heartbeat, and likewise it had intertwined itself into his brain, his body. He’d never be rid of it, or any of the other memories, not until he died. The helpless feeling that comes with the realization is overpowering and devastating. 

“It’s not,” 2D says firmly. “It never was, Muds.”

“Maybe not. But me not getting over it is my fault,” he says, bitter. He hates himself. “It’s happened so many bloody times I should be used to it by now.”

“Stop it,” 2D raises his voice slightly. “That’s an awful thing to say, Murdoc. How could you say that?” 

“Because I ruin everything!” His voice cracks and he pulls the towel tighter around his shoulders. “It doesn’t matter what you say because I know all the trouble we’ve had has been because of me. We tried to figure out a system and it’s still not working. Not even alcohol helped this time. Why? Because of me. You want to know why I always rush through fucking? Because I’m afraid if I take too long I’m going to end up back there again. I see the faces, hear the voices...my skin feels like it’s burning and I want to throw up.” He has to stop himself there and takes a long drink. “And it’s not going away. It’s never going to go away. Other people get past it, but not me…” He sniffs. “Why s’that? It’s been years, decades for some of those memories, and they’re. Still. There. I’ve tried everything- drinking, drugs. All they do is making it go away for a little while. I tried fucking it all away but you see what that’s done to me. Other people can do it and I...I can’t. So it must be me that’s the problem.”

“You know that’s not true.” 2D keeps his eyes locked on the road yet he speaks to Murdoc with such honesty in his voice. “We talked about it and said we’d be patient. We’ve had two nights together that were...beautiful…”

“I was nine,” Murdoc continues, eyes cloudy and blank. 2D’s words can’t get him out of his current spiral. He stares at the glove compartment while he speaks quivering. “I never had a chance. But we didn’t get dinner all the time and I’d be so hungry. She’d always have something for me and she never charged me anything even though that grumpy gaffer of hers would always throw a fit about it. She always worried about me and always listened. When she invited me into the back room on night I…” He stops momentarily, the words piling up in his throat. “I didn’t know what else to do but trust her. That was the first time I felt that sick feeling. But you know what the kicker is? I kept going back because I was still hungry and I was still...alone. I guess even after all of that I still had this fantasy that she might adopt me and get me away from him...but that never happened. She moved away and I couldn’t make sense of what had happened. I felt all wrong, but I still missed her for a little while.” He’s almost at the bottom of his bottle now and 2D is silent. “That’s so fucked up isn’t it? And I’ve been all wrong ever since...I never had a chance.”

“Why are you telling me this, Muds?” 2D’s voice is even and eerily calm. 

The car is silent as Murdoc tries to determine how to answer him.

“I...I want you to be able to talk to me...but this?...This feels like you’re telling me this because you want to push me away.” 

“I’m just being honest,” Murdoc says, bitterness in his voice. “Isn’t that what you and Russel and Noodle have always wanted out of me? There you have it. This is who you’re dating now. And you wonder why I chose denial all these years.” 

2D pulls the car over and slams on the breaks. Murdoc has to brace himself to keep from being thrown into the window. 

“I know what you’re doing any I want you to stop.” 2D stares directly at him while he speaks and Murdoc curls into himself more, wishing the towel would swallow him up. “I’m not stupid, Murdoc. I’m not incapable of thinking through situations and making decisions for myself. I think about the shitty things you’ve done. I think about how terrible I feel when I think I’ve frightened you. I think about the stakes of this trip for us but most of all for you. I’ve spent _ years _ thinking about some of these things because if I didn’t I would have gone mental. And even after all of that I followed you. I’m here because you bloody mean something to me. All of you. Everything. Even the parts you hate.” He pauses and Murdoc can feel his muscles tensing. It’s as if he’s just died and his body is stiffening and withering. 

“I know all those parts exist,” 2D continues. “And maybe I can’t take it all away from you but I can tell you this - you don’t mean any less to me, you’ll  _ never _ mean anything less to me. It’s taken years but I know now. I care for you. I want you. Okay?”

It’s at that moment that something inside of him breaks and there isn’t enough time for him to stop them. Tears. The sobs follow after and soon he’s crying, face buried in the crook of his arm as he leans on the door. With every sob comes years of pain and self-loathing that he’s bottled up inside of him. His body strains and shakes as they come, as if he’s expelling some sort of parasite or demon. It’s been so long and everything aches, but he cries and cries and he doesn’t try to stop himself. He doesn’t know that he could even if he wanted to. 

“Murdoc,” he hears 2D’s voice faint in the background. 

He looks over at him, unable to find any words to say. He thinks he can see 2D’s eyes are watering, too and he tries to say something but all that comes out is ragged breathing and more sobbing. 

2D reaches out a tentative hand and it’s all Murdoc needs to throw himself into his embrace and continue crying. He clings to him and feels the singer’s hands cling to him back. “I’m going to be here,” he murmurs into his neck. “Always.” 

His words only bring on more sobs, and it’s not until Murdoc catches his breath and the sobs begin to  subside that he replies, “I know.” And again to convince himself, “I know.” And he squeezes him tightly.  _ Thank you. _ He can’t find a way to say it, but he hopes 2D can feel it.  _ Thank you. Thank you. _

* * *

 

They drive in a more comfortable silence with Murdoc struggling to keep his eyes open until the tank is low. There room for the night is in a motel close to the border of Texas. Drunk and exhausted, Murdoc barely gets a good look at the room before passing out in his clothes without even getting under the covers.

He’s surprised to find 2D awake the before him the next morning, chewing casually on a bagel and watching the SyFy channel. “Good morning,” he says once he notices him. His expression is unreadable. 

“Hey,” Murdoc says. His head aches and he’s cold but he can’t think of what to do next without feeling embarrassed. So he sits in the bed, pretending to watch the movie while hundreds of thoughts fly through his head.  _ You survived this long hiding a lot didn’t you, Murdoc? Well, it’s time to consider new survival skills, _ the words echo in his head. He squeezes his eyes shut. “So, er...about last night…” he begins. If he didn’t say it, he would be thinking about it indefinitely.

2D turns towards him. “Yes?” 

“I, uh, said...a lot.” He’s unsure of what he’s trying to say. “It was a lot. Out of nowhere. Too much.”

“Well, not exactly” 2d says. “It was a surprise, but it’s something I’ve asked about it, maybe not directly but...something in you trusted me enough to share that.” He looks down at his hands. “It’s just...you’re carrying around so much and I don’t know if anything I can say is enough.” 

“You listened,” Murdoc says. “That’s more than anyone’s ever done. I…” His voice quivers. “...I haven’t ever said any of that out loud.” Then he exhales. “And you listened...I think that’s all I need...” He’d never given himself a chance to be so openly angry or hurt about it before. It had always been there, but he’d never allowed it to get to the point where he voiced every toxic thought in his head and cried without caring how stupid or weak he looked. He knows the memories are still there, but being able to express a full range of emotions and all of his confusing thought patterns to someone he could trust felt...healing. “I, er...can’t make any promises that it won’t happen again.”

“What won’t?” 2D asks. “You talking to me about things or the flashbacks?”

“Both. All of it...stuff I can’t even predict right now.” Murdoc’s eyes dart nervously from 2D to the TV. 

“I want you to feel like you can talk to me.” 2D looks over at him. Then he chuckles. “Preferably sober, but I know that won’t happen right away. And...I want to be able to talk to you.” 

“And what about…?” Murdoc trails off. Without the alcohol he can’t bring himself to say it. 

“I know,” 2D says for him. “This relationship is, uh, a lot more than shagging to me. If that was all it was about I would have had sex with you all the way back in the beginning...” He hesitates. “...In Jamaica.” 

Murdoc stomach jumps at the mention of that trip. But they weren’t in the woods anymore. “I was talking a lot of nonsense in Jamaica,” he says. “Or at least I thought it was. Christ. I’ve been mental for so long I don’t know how you put up with me. We were kissing, I think I remember that…it’s all broken up.”

“You tried to give me a blowjob,” 2D says bluntly. “And I almost let you but...you were barely keeping your eyes open. So I told you to lay down instead and once you did you were completely out.” 

“I was pretty smooth back then wasn’t I?” Murdoc offers him a sad smile. He hopes it will come across as a joke, but 2D doesn’t react to it.

“I couldn’t figure out what you wanted,” 2D reflects. “I couldn’t figure out...you, or what goes on in your head. I still don’t think I know half the time.”

“You’re not doing so bad of a job,” Murdoc says. “Sometimes I feel like you’re in there, reading me like an overused piece of sheet music.” 

2D’s expression brightens with intrigue. “Really?” 

“Yeah…” He takes in a deep breath. “It’s me. I’m a confusing bloody mess, is all. And I’m not sure I’m equipped to be...cared for like this.” It shouldn’t feel unnatural. He knows that. People cared for each other all the time. Why was is still so hard for him to believe he could be a part that too?

2D shifts closer to him. “That’s why I’d rather do all of this slowly. I’d rather have sex with you when you’ve got a clear head. I know it’s more difficult...for both of us, but I think it’s the right way...so we can both get used to each other. And I hope that in time you can be kinder to yourself about it because I’ll never be angry with you, not when it comes to that.” 

Murdoc stares at the television, absorbing his words. “...Try and try again I guess.” Is the most he can say. And he stays quiet with his thoughts for a while longer until the movie arrives at a scene of a monster consuming a character as they try to flee.  Then the urgency from yesterday returns. “We should go,” he says. “I’m changing first but after that I’d feel better on the road.” Mindful of his foot, he stands and hops towards his bag. But it’s so awkward to hop that he soon gives up and crawls.

“Wait,” 2D interrupts. “You never picked out your outfit.” 

“I know what my outfit is, it’s the first shirt and pants I pull out of here.” 

“No, that’s not it.” 2D sets his half-eaten bagel aside and joins him on the floor. “We’re trying not to be noticed and they’ve already reported on a sighting of you in New York…” 

“And what do you suggest I wear?” The singer is right, but Murdoc doesn’t have clothes other than his own.

2D grins. “My clothes.” 

“You’re wardrobe is basically my wardrobe at this point ever since you decided to start ‘borrowing’ my jackets and shirts.” He also knows 2D wears a longer leg length than he does, and trying on his pants only to have to tell him they’re ‘too long’ isn’t a scenario he wants to play a part in creating.

2D ponders this. “Good point. Uh…” He swipes around on his phone. “There’s also this big department store across the street. We can go shopping.” 

“I can barely go any distance by foot without looking like a complete prick,” Murdoc says. “And besides, we have to  _ go. _ ” The only other option would be...

“I could shop for you,” 2D suggests, unintentionally reading his mind the way Murdoc had just told him he did. “I’ll be really quick, too. And then we can go...I know you’re stressed, Muds, but if we get this out of the way you won’t have to worry about people recognizing you while you have to hop around and all that.” 

So he was going to be at the mercy of whatever embarrassing outfits ideas 2D had mulling around in his head. “ _ Fine _ . But if you come back with shit you can say goodbye to that leather jacket you took and all of  _ my _ striped shirts and-”

2D laughs. “Whatever you say, Muds.” He pulls the blue sweatshirt over his head and digs his wallet out of his other jacket’s pocket. “You better get ready. I bet I’ll be back before you change your bandage.”

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “Not if you get lost in the parking lot like you did after our last show in Boston.” 

2D laughs again from the doorway and skips out of the room leaving Murdoc alone. It’s an uncomfortable realization and it makes him aware of just how secure he feels around the singer despite the knowledge that he’s useless against the entity that’s after him. So even though the SyFy movie that’s playing is low budget and inane, he leaves it on.

He spends the next few minutes changing out of his dirty clothes and into some that are warm and comfortable. He finds a pair of dark gray sweatpants Russel bought him for his birthday one year during a very short-lived zumba phase. They’re probably the only pair he owns but they’re exactly what he needs. Then he digs through 2D’s bag for his striped sweater, which he has no luck finding. What he does find one of his black T-shirts that he thought he had lost. “Borrow my arse,” he mutters and pulls it over his head. 

Then he washes up in the bathroom and changes his bandage, which takes longer than he expects. He tests out whether he can put weight on his foot very briefly but tosses that idea out the second he feels the sharp, burning pain from the impact of the floor to his skin.

After that he crawls back to the foot of the bed and pulls out his mother’s letters. He had come to view them less as a source of information since discovering that his mother was hiding her plans, whatever they were,  from his father. But they were a tangible connection to her, evidence that she existed, and uneasy as he is, he feels like he needs her. 

So, with a newly opened bottle of rum, he greets them. “Hey, mum,” he says as he runs his hand over his teddy bear which sits in the same box. “Thanks for helping me out back there...I thought I was a goner.” The bear stares back at him and he sighs. “It’s hard...you know that? I keep going backwards…” He stops. A sudden urge to open a letter guides his hand to the shoe box and he opens it.

_ July 2nd, 1977 _

_ Dear Murdoc, I hope this letter finds you in a safe place. You must be getting so big! I’m doing everything I can to return but as life goes, there are things I have to make right here before I can come and get you. Please don’t give up on me. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about you or grieve the time that we’ve lost. I think about the day I met you and saw your tiny face. You have your grandmother’s eyes and your grandfather’s eyebrows. I saw some of myself in your cheekbones. Your father is there too I suppose. Haha! They say our family genes are strong. You’ll see when you meet them. I know they would want to meet you. I have so many stories I want to tell you about our family and how much they love you. I hope you get to experience that feeling someday - the feeling of being loved.  _

Murdoc stops reading there and lets the letter rest in his lap as he takes a long drink. “I don’t know,” he mutters, imagining 2D wandering around in the parking lot. “I don’t know what it is we’re doing or that I can even - ” His eyes dart back to the box and that same presence urges him to pull out the final letter. It makes him uneasy so he picks the an earlier letter instead, close to the end, but not the actual end. When he opens it, he notices a difference in handwriting. No longer is it neat and slanted. Instead, the message appears to be hastily written and barely legible.

_ August 10th, 2003, _ the date reads.  _ I see the shadows every morning, hear the steady footsteps.  Behind me, in the mirrors, in my dreams. He was looking and he’s almost.. _ The words shrink to the point of being unreadable. Murdoc squints but is too immersed to look for his glasses. _ It’s no good and there’s no other choice. To burn.  _ Murdoc grips the letter more tightly.  _ Look for the raven in the south. Let him guide you in your dark hour while I do what has to be done. Be safe, Doc. I love you.  _

He stares at the paper in shock as the words sink into his mind. Then he notices the date again and it dawns on him. 

Prison. 

“I’m back!” 2D bursts through the door next, breathless from running with from what looks to be at least five shopping bags on his arms. “American stores really do have everything. But I got all of this and -” he grins and pull out a black hat with a golden fleur-de-lis on the front. “This.” 

But Murdoc can’t tear his eyes away from the letter. 

“Muds?” 2D, all his bags in tow, walks over to him and sits down beside him.

“She sent Cortez to me,” Murdoc says. “In Mexico. That was her.” How many other times had she helped him without him knowing? 

“Really?” 2D says. “She told you?” 

“That must be why I saw what I saw yesterday...before you woke me up,” he says. “It was the last place I want to be or to remember...but...” After Cortez they had all left him alone. But what then was he to make of his memories? Where they his mother trying to communicate with him or where they representation of the inimical force trying to kill him? The memory yesterday had terrified him and triggered his breakdown yet he cried for the first time in years because of it, and that had felt reparative. But why did always have to include pain? “Then in the other memories I keep remembering myself babbling about weird shit that I shouldn’t  have known at the time. Pink beaches? Disappearing woods?” He glances back at the bear, then to the letter then to 2D. “I...don’t know what wrong with my head...” 

2D places his hand on the hand holding the letter. “Can...I put this away?” he asks. 

Murdoc takes another gulp and nods.

“We’re going to find her, okay?” 2D sets the letter back in its envelope and tucks it away in the shoe box. “And remember what Ava said about you being closer to death than the average person. I don’t think anything’s wrong with your head. If anything, it’s more like something’s  _ right _ with your head.” He pokes Murdoc’s head lightly with his finger. “You have a super head, but like any superhero you just have to learn how to use it.” 

Murdoc is able to muster a small smile from this though he still feels uneasy. 

“Anyhow,” 2D says. “Would you like to see what I bought?” 

“Yeah,” he says, breathing out and trying to untense his body. 2D is right. The sooner he could get changed the better. He doesn’t have time to dwell on his questions. “Yeah. Why don’t we do that.” 

Grinning 2D pushes the box of letters away and dumps every single bag on the floor beside him. “I wanted to make sure you had options. So if you don’t like one outfit you can use the other.” He takes of the blue sweatshirt and adds it to the pile. “And there’s always this.” 

At a superficial glance, Murdoc sees a collection of polo shirts, plaid shirts and mass produced brand name sportswear. “This is all shit. I wouldn’t be caught dead in any of this.”

“Um, yeah,” 2D nods. “That’s the point. I thought you might like the Nike though, because of the ‘Just Do It’ thing they’re always advertising. So next time that evil ghost makes you feel discouraged you can remind yourself to ‘Just Do It,’ like the positive affirmations you were working on. The polo shirts I thought were funny because you really wouldn’t recognizable. And the plaid I bought because I, uh, I don’t know I just thought you’d look cute in plaid.” He grins. 

The uneasiness takes over. The letters, the memories, his foot, the entity chasing him that he’s starting to believe already killed his mother. He couldn’t walk correctly, couldn’t manage his emotions and now he was staring even more humiliation in the face in the form of an ugly outfit. “Fuck!” he yells and pulls at his hair. He knows he probably looks stupid throwing another fit but the words come out regardless. “This is fucked. I’m fucked. My head’s fucked. My foot’s fucked. My-”

“... _ Love is your love _ ,” 2D interrupts him, singing.

Murdoc blinks.

“ _ It would take an eternity to break us.”  _ 2D starts to clap tepidly. “ _ And the chains of Amistad couldn’t hold us...Clap your hands, y’all it’s alright. _ ” 

He can feel his hands getting clammy as the melody registers. “Wha-what’s that about?” 

“She’s your favorite, right?” 2D nudges him. “Whitney.” 

Murdoc can feels his cheeks starting to turn red. “Whitney? You mean Whitney Houston? Where did you get that idea?

“From you,” 2D replies. “When you play her albums at rather high volumes in the middle of the night. We can all hear it you know.” 

“You can hea- I mean no I don’t.” He’s blushing now. He never thought the music was  _ that  _ loud.

2D just chuckles. “My room is right under yours...She’s always going on about how things aren’t right, but they’re okay, or how the children are the future. She’s very wise. I’ve learned a lot from her at 3am in the morning.”

Murdoc sinks down towards the floor. “And none of you ever thought to  _ tell _ me about this?” 

“I guess I figured if it was helping you then I didn’t want to take that away.” 2D says. Then he starts singing again, “ _ As the years they pass us by...Years, the years, the years, the years.” _ He stops. “That’s my favorite part.”   _   
_

Murdoc can feel his hand nudging his. He takes it.

_ “We stay young through each other’s eyes. And no matter how old we get.. _ ” Smiling, 2D squeezes his hand and meets his gaze.  _ “It's okay as long as I got you babe...” _

His foot injury and his visions seems farther away, at least for now, and he toys with the idea of covering a song at one  of their concerts. “ _ Clap your hands, y’all it’s alright, _ ” he half mumbles, half sings, but inside his heart flutters. Absentmindedly, he lets his head fall on 2D’s shoulder.

_ “'Cause your love is my love, and my love is your love,” _ 2D sings. “ _ It would take an eternity to break us, and the chains of Amistad couldn't hold us…”  _

It’s then that Murdoc turns his head and places a kiss on his neck. And when 2D continues singing the refrain he kisses his neck again, this time adding in a teasing nip. He smirks when he hears the singing falter and is about to kiss him again when 2D tilts his head up and presses his lips to his.

Murdoc takes the invitation and presses himself closer, slipping his tongue in his mouth. He kisses him and kisses him, moving from beside him to in his lap, pressing him back against the bed. It’s the only way he can think to show him his appreciation. He runs his hands his hair and down his chest, feeling him, taking in every curve of his body.

They separate and 2D laughs.

“What?” Murdoc is almost offended at his reaction. 

“You like my singing?” 2D teases. “You really,  _ really _ like my singing?” He leans forward and presses a kiss on the bridge of his nose.

Murdoc can feel the red returning to his face. “I...Your singing is…” He buries his head in the crook of his neck. “What are you getting at?”

“It’s okay.” 2D rubs his back gently. “I’m just taking a piss out of you.” He chuckles again “It’s good information for me to know. Did I get you feeling randy the first time you heard me sing? Does it happen every time?”

“...Shut up.” Murdoc mumbles. But he still nestles himself closer, easing himself into the feeling of their bodies being so close again. Sighing, he breathes in the scent of 2D’s shirt and up and down rhythm of his breathing. 2D. He was with 2D in the hotel. He wasn’t anywhere else. 

“Hey, Murdoc?” The singer’s hand drops lower. “....Can I touch your bum?”

This time it’s Murdoc who laughs. “What kind of question is that? Of course you can.” 

“Well, I didn’t ask last time and...I don’t want to, you know, surprise you.” 2D moves his hand to his ass and gives it a small squeeze. “But, uh, I like your bum. I like bums in general, really. But yours is my favorite, of course” 

Murdoc snorts and answers him with another deep kiss, groaning when the singer uses his ass to press their hips closer together. Slowly, he begins to grind against him, a familiar tightening his pants becoming increasingly apparent.

“Muds…” 2D’s hand leave his ass and joins his other hand in cupping his face, steadying it.

Murdoc frowns and tries to lean forwards to kiss him again anyways. But when he sees the look in 2D’s eyes he stops. He knows exactly what he’s going to say before he says it. “I’m...I think I’m alright today,” he says. Thoughts of his earlier desire to leave as soon as possible resurface and he disregards them. This moment feels too important to lose. “I want you, too, Stu.” 

“I know,” 2D smiles at him. “And there are ways you can show me that besides shagging.”

Maybe, but none come to mind. For this moment he has his mind made up. “I know,” he says back. “But…” he brings his left hand up and grasps 2D’s right and pulls it away from his face. “It’s like you said…” Tilting his head to the left he places a kiss on his palm. “You’ve got me all hot and now you’ve got to finish it.” Then he guides his hand gradually along his face, down his neck and to the exposed skin of his chest.

2D stares at his hand for a moment, fisting the fabric of his shirt as if he’s still processing what Murdoc is telling him. Then, he lunges forward at a speed Murdoc did not know he could achieve, capturing his mouth in a greedy kiss. Murdoc lets out surprised noise as he falls backwards. Thankfully, it’s a soft fall onto the pile of new clothes he scoffing at earlier. 

Once he’s got his bearings he tangles his hand in 2D’s hair and rucks his shirt up with the other.

2D lowers himself down so that he’s supporting himself on his elbows and continues their grinding, responding with more vigor with every moan Murdoc makes. He doesn’t break their kissing until Murdoc is a dizzy, panting mess. “You like that, don’t you,” he whispers near his ear, voice husky in a way that goes directly to Murdoc’s growing erection. 

“Fuck, Stu,” he pants. 

“Hmm?” 2D nips at his earlobe.

It’s difficult to gather his thoughts when he’s so lost in his movements and the heat of their bodies together. “Can’t...can’t say I expected you to be...this way…”

2D tilts his head to the side. “What...uh, exactly were you expecting?”

Murdoc stares at him blankly. He expected 2D would know what he was talking about, but now that he knows he doesn’t know what to say. “I...er...never mind...the point it, you’ve exceeded them.”

2D  thinks about this for a second. “Oh, well...that’s good then.” He presses his forehead against his. “So, uh, comfy?”

“...Yeah.” 

“I’m going to move my knee,” he continues, shifting his position. “I think you’ll like it…”

“Wha -” Murdoc is interrupted by his own gasp as the singer presses a knee between his legs. He’s so sensitive there that the more direct stimulation nearly sends him over the edge. “Stu…” he whines as 2D kisses his neck, tentatively at first to see how he responds, then with more confidence. 

“Is...it alright if we keep going?” he whispers in his ear. He presses his knee down again, earning him another whine.

The question makes his heart start to pound in excitement, dull thudding in his chest. And with it comes  fear. He’s mildly drunk, but he isn’t sure if it’s enough and it infuriates him. Because at the same time, 2D rubs him with his knee and his body screams at him that it needs more, and its desire escapes him in moans and gasps. So he pulls him into a kiss anyways because he still wants to so, so badly. “Take my shirt off,” he mumbles between kisses, too impatient to wait for the inevitable question.

Immediately, he feels 2D’s hands pull fabric up, grazing his skin as they go and shudders. He breaks their kiss to help him pull the garment over his head and the tosses it to the side. His attention shifts to 2D’s shirt next. He reaches for it, but 2D’s hand stops him. “Not yet,” he says. “Slowly, remember?”

_ No! _ Murdoc wants to yell at him. Instead he moves to take of the rest of his own clothes, maneuvering awkwardly around 2D’s limbs as he kicks off his sweatpants. 2D stops him just short of taking off his underwear. 

“Muds, wait,” he says. “What are we doing…? How are we doing it?”

“We’re fucking,” Murdoc says. He shakes 2D’s hand off of his wrist and pulls his underwear off anyways.

“Are you sure?” 

“ _ Yes _ . I’m sure.” 

2D leans forward, pressing him back down against the clothes gently. “Well then…” He gives him a chaste kiss. “There’s no need to be in such a rush. Do we have anywhere we need to be?” He freezes momentarily when he realizes his mistake, “Wait, actually, don’t answer that.” 

Murdoc rolls his eyes. “You really know how to ruin a mood, huh?” He slides his hand along 2D’s side. “But lucky for you I want to fuck…” And when he reaches his waist he slips it between his legs and squeezes, smirking as he watches the singer struggle to bite back a moan. “And you want to fuck...so  that’s what we’re going to do…” 

“Shit...a-alright, Muds,” 2D says. “But, uh…” he gasps when Murdoc squeezes again. “Let me know...if… you want to stop, okay?” He really was faithful to that self-appointed code of ethics.

However, Murdoc knows he’s going to be okay because he’s isn’t going allow himself think otherwise. “I will,” he says, and he allows his hand to drip from his crotch to his thigh.  _ Just stay in the moment, _ he tells himself.

2D leans down and kisses him one more time before sitting up. “Try to focus on me,” he whispers. And Murdoc watches as he lifts up his shirt, a gradual process, giving his eyes a chance to linger on every bit of stomach up to his chest. 

Murdoc sits up. He keeps his hand on 2D’s thigh, using his grip to pull him closer. 2D shifts so that he’s on his knees, straddling him, and Murdoc gasps when the fabric of his pants brushes against his dick. Instinctively he thrusts up, needy and eager. 

“Muds.” 2D wraps his hands around his shoulders. “How about, uh- “ His voice hitches when Murdoc takes one of his nipples between his teeth and bites. “How about we switch it around this time?” 

Murdoc presses his lips to his chest, kissing him. He feels the pressure of 2D digging his nails into his shoulders as he works and groans. “Hard to do that,” he murmurs, running his hands up his thighs until they reach the waistband of his pants. “When you’ve still got these on.” 

2D chuckles and pulls his hands from around his neck and to his pants. “That can be fixed.” But before he unbuttons them, he places a hand to Murdoc’s chest and pushes him backwards.

“Huh?” Murdoc is flustered. 

“I told you to watch me,” 2D says, unzipping his pants and pulling them, along with his underwear down around his thighs, finally freeing his erection. Smirking, he strokes himself a few times, wanton moans escaping him as he bucks against his hand. 

Unable to stop himself, Murdoc begins to push himself up again only to be met with another hand on his chest. But before he can protest, 2D is on him once more, tongue pressing into his mouth as he grinds against him again, only this time, it’s bare skin to skin contact. Murdoc whimpers into his mouth as he feels his arousal rub against his, jolts of pleasure running through his body.

“Stay put, okay?” 2D says, breaking away and reaching behind himself to pull his clothes down further until they’re low enough for him to kick them off. Then he sits up and leans over to where his suitcase lies not too far away. He rifles through it until he find their lube and a condom. 

Murdoc watches him, restlessness growing. It just his aching for release. It’s also his mind which he feels is trying to drift. He tries to remember what 2D told him in New Orleans about focusing on what his feelings are in the moment - the feeling the clothes against his back, 2D’s legs rubbing against his as he shifts and moves, his own breathing. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Muds?” He opens his eyes and sees 2D studying him. 

“Huh?” He blinks.

“I asked if you wanted to put the condom on or if you wanted me to.” 

“Oh, er, yeah.” Impulsively, he sits up and grabs the packet out of his hand and rips it open. There. He could focus on that. And 2D as he lathers the lube over his hands. Then the singer settles back onto his lap, hand hovering over Murdoc’s dick. “May I?” he asks. 

“May you? Christ, It’s about time,” Murdoc says. 

2D grips him tightly, and he begins to pump him. This sends Murdoc backwards on his own, tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth as he moans and arches into him as he quickens his pace. He hardly notices 2D reaching behind himself, working his fingers inside and beginning to stretch himself until he grabs his hand. He rubs his fingers against his until there’s an adequate amount of lube there and whispers, “Want to help me?” He asks, guiding his hand back until it rests on his ass.

Murdoc can only manage a incoherent sound of affirmation before he pulls the singer close to him and presses two of his fingers between his cheeks and inside of him. When he finds the spot he’s looking for 2D gasps into his neck and shivers. Murdoc takes this as a signal to begin moving, thrusting his fingers in and out and drinking in the pants and moans from the man on top of him. Eventually he adds in a third finger, pausing between thrusts to stretch him. “You like that, don’t you,” he pants, echoing 2D’s words to him from earlier. 

“I...I think I need all of you now,” 2D breathes. “Ahh..shit.” He sits up again and raise himself up on his knees, dark eyes cloudy with lust.

Murdoc stares at him. Equally dizzy and breathless. “You’re gonna…?”

2D nods and chuckles. “I’ve, uh, had a bit of practice.” 

Murdoc squints. That didn’t sound right. “Wha…?”

“Not with other blokes,” 2D says. “But with uh...never mind.” He positions himself over top of him. “Just let me do this.” 

Without another word Murdoc watches as 2D gradually lowers himself onto his dick. He’s tight and his little gasps and and pants as he adjusts to him are intoxicating in a way alcohol could never be. 

“I want you to look at me,” he says once he’s taken in all of him. “Like it’s just you and me.” And he starts to move, lifting himself up and then bringing himself back down. 

It takes Murdoc a second to follow his rhythm, but soon enough, they hit their stride and the only sounds in the room are that of skin against skin and moans. 2D looks beautiful above him, face beaded with sweat, blue hair clinging to his face. So he tells him, “You’re beautiful.” And when 2D opens his eyes to see him staring, he smiles at him and Murdoc feels his heart jump again. And it pounds in time with their movement.

_ Thud. Thud. Thud. _

Murdoc squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block it out. It couldn’t happen now. He won’t let it. 

“K-keep hitting that spot…” he hears 2D say, but he sounds further and further away, drowned out by that persistent rhythm. 

_ Focus.  _ He needs it to go away, but his efforts to ignore it only seem to make it come back stronger. 2D isn’t enough, what he’s doing isn’t enough. Murdoc gasps as his shoulder aches and the thuds get louder. He needs it all to go away. Then it comes to him. He takes his right hand from 2D’s waist and grabs the singer’s left hand, placing it on his chest. “Touch me,” he breathes. “Need you...to touch me.” 2D smiles at him again and begins to caress him in response. 

As well-intended as he is, it isn’t what Murdoc means. It takes all his self-control to slowly guides his hand closer and closer to his neck until his fingers graze his Adam's apple. Weave his fingers between 2D’s, he maneuvers them so that they fall exactly where he wants them. Then he closes his eyes.

“Murdoc…?” 2D sounds confused. Murdoc doesn’t answer him and squeezes his hand. Hard. And with his eyes closed he can pretend 2D is the only one doing the choking.

“Murdoc!” 2D immediately tries to pull his hand away but Murdoc fights him and places his other hand on top of his, desperate to keep the sensation there. He has to. He needs it. 

But the shock of his actions have an effect on the singer and he wrestles with him until gets a hold of his wrists and slams them down on either side of his head. 

Murdoc struggles, testing his grip and moans when he tightens his hold. 

“What are you doing?” He snaps, eyes hard. 

Murdoc stares back at him, eyes hazy with bliss. “Keep...keep moving, Stu,” he pants. “I’m close.” So close. He was going to make it.

2D doesn’t saying anything. But after a moment’s hesitation, he starts moving again, his movements harsher and pace faster. Murdoc can feel the frustration as he rocks with him all the while keeping his grip on his wrists firm. Murdoc twists his head to the side, tugging against his hold and groaning, “Tighter…” And he catches a glimpse of confusion on 2D’s face, but he listens and bears down down more of his weight eliciting another whimper from him. It isn’t exactly what he had in mind but it’s good enough. 

_ Focus on 2D. Focus on his grip, his movement, his noises. You’re here. You’re here. You’re here. _ As he’s thinking he feels 2D clench down on him. It’s at that point he let’s go, moaning loudly as he comes. 

Only then, as he’s dazed in the aftermath of his orgasm, does 2D let him go. And Murdoc gazes at him through half-lidded eyes as he strokes himself to completion and collapsing on top of him, panting. 

They lie there in silence until 2D sighs and rolls over so that he’s next to him. 

“Good show, Stu,” Murdoc offers, unable to read if he’s angry with him. 

“What was that at the end, Muds?” It isn’t an angry tone, but he definitely doesn’t sound happy. 

Murdoc tries to play it off. “I, er, like a good choking every now and then. You know that.”

“No. I knew you were into S&M for a bit but…I didn’t know the specifics.” 2D counters. “It certainly wasn’t on my mind at all...it has yet to be on my mind since we got together.”

“Well it was on mine.” Murdoc examines one of his wrists, smiling when he sees the beginning of a bruise. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You were playing into it yourself barking all those orders.”

“It took me weeks - years, really if we’re counting the entire time I’ve known you - for you to let me anywhere near that area and now you want me to  _ choke _ you there like I’m your...your…” 2D trails off.

Still, his comments stings. It makes him feel terrible, actually. “My  _ what? _ ” Murdoc snaps. 

“N-never mind,” 2D says. “But I’m not hurting you like that.”

“Never would have pegged you as this vanilla,” Murdoc mutters, accusatory. He winces as another wave of pain runs through his shoulder. 

“I’m not,” 2D argues. “It’s not the exactly the choking part I’m hesitant about...it’s-”

“Me,” Murdoc interrupts. 

2D is quiet.

“Well did you ever stop to think that perhaps I’ve done my share of experimentation and I’ve figured it all out already?” He doesn’t want to psychoanalyze himself or his contradictions right now. There was something cathartic about having control over the pain and fear that rendered him so powerless in every other setting. So far this was the only way he knew to achieve that and he’d end it with 2D with no hesitation if the singer tried to shame him out of that. “I  _ know _ what I’m doing. And it means a whole bloody lot that I’m trying to let you have a go at it...I don’t just let anyone.” Without sitting up, he tries to feel around for his abandoned bottle of rum. “It...helps me, alright? Whether you think it’s fucked up or not.” He sighs. “But...I probably shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that…”

2D’s face softens as he takes in what he’s saying. “You’ve got that right, not something like that.”

“But it was happening again…” Murdoc sits up, rubbing his shoulder. “And it’s still happening...I wasn’t going to stop us.”

“You could have,” 2D says. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Well, I would have,” Murdoc says. He spots his bottle over by 2D’s suitcase and grabs. “Why is this so bloody difficult?” He complains before taking a drink. Behind him he hears rustling as 2D moves next to him. The singer places a reassuring hand on his knee and a kiss on his shoulder.

“We’ll talk about it, 'kay?” He gives his knee squeeze. “And we’ll figure it out like we’re doing with everything else.”

“So from now on you’ll choke me if I ask you to?” 

2D is quiet for a moment. “I said we’ll talk about it...I don’t think you’re wrong for what you like, Muds. You just have to tell me when you think you want something like that and then we have to go from there…” 

It isn’t the answer Murdoc is looking for but any protest he has fades away when another jab of pain runs up his back. He grimaces. “Fuck…”

“What is it?” 

“My back...hurts.” He turns around and examines the new clothes 2D bought him. “Of course these are all covered in lube and sweat and cum...why the fuck did we just do that?” 

“Not all of them,” 2D says, grabbing a plaid shirt from further down in the pile. “You can wear this with one of my shirts and this -” he grabs the baseball hat from the bed. “New Orleans Saints hat I bought from this old guy in the parking lot.” 

He doesn’t care how ridiculous he’s going to look. His body was giving him signals that were all to familiar and he knows they need to get on the road as soon as possible. So he grabs them.

* * *

 

It takes them another few minutes of washing up and changing, but they’re in the car within the hour. 

Murdoc feels significantly better in the driver’s seat, grateful that his right foot wasn’t the foot that got injured. It wasn’t much, but at least he could say that not everything was going wrong. And, like 2D said, that they were going to figure things out.

2D plugs in their next address from the passenger side and looks him over. “You look cute,” he teases. 

“Don’t push it,” Murdoc grumbles, adjusting his hat. “Why the American football hat?”

“I’ve been wanting to get into it more,” 2D says. “You know, without any real football close by it gets kind of boring with no live matches to go to. I thought if one of us had a hat maybe it might be a good conversation starter without me having to do anything. And after our time here...I think New Orleans is always going to be special to me.” He sets the phone on the GPS stand. “So I think I’ll be a Saints fan from now on.”

Murdoc shifts the car into drive. “You’re such a geek,” he says, a smile creeping onto his face regardless. 

And 2D laughs. “Well...I’m your geek, I guess.”    


“Yeah...I guess you are.” Their next stop was in New Mexico and as he looks at the land ahead he sees nothing but flat, swampland. “Hey, Stu, next time we stop...I think I’d like to buy a journal.” 

2D looks up. “You want a journal?”

“Er...yeah.” As he drives, he concentrates on the flow of his breath. “I’m always going on about how forgetful I am and I think...I think it’s time I accept that I need some reminders. For example, me being affected by what’s happened to me isn’t a bad thing or a good thing. It just is. And it doesn’t make me a worthless person...or that that my mum loves me...or-”

“‘Just do it,’” 2D jokes. 

Murdoc snorts. “Right, I guess I could add that one too if you insist.”

“I like that idea,” 2D says. “I like it a lot.” 

The suns is strong in the sky as they pull onto the road. Murdoc can feel the heat on his face through the window. He isn’t ready for the journey. He never was. But he has 2D and his mother and if they could believe in him then he would just have to keep trying to believe in himself. So despite his doubts and the uncertainty ahead, he smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so @ the anon who asked me if/when Murdoc's masochism was ever going to be addressed well, we've finally arrived at that. Also apologies if this wasn't the smut you were looking for...there's still a lot they're working out! 
> 
> Other notes: Murdoc liking Whitney Houston appeared in a 2D interview this phase and I thought it would be cute to include it haha. Murdoc's been processing a lot about what happened to him, and I think I've finally reached a point where it can shift to him and 2D going forward - fyi to anyone wondering about that. 
> 
> As always thoughts/feedback mean the world to me and help me out a lot! Thank you to to everyone who has commented/left kudos/shared this fic <3, your comments and tags brighten my day. And please feel free to reach out to me with any questions or concerns as well.


	16. Chapter 16

Texas proves to be a larger state than Murdoc anticipates, the drive more formidable. He’s struck by how stiff and sore he is from driving as he pulls himself out of the car to help 2D figure out how to open the gas tank. “How is it that you can fix the engine in Russel’s heap of junk that he calls a truck but can’t do something as basic as getting gas?” He complains but turns the cap anyways. It opens without any issue. “There.”

2D gapes at the open tank, speechless at Murdoc’s effortless achievement. “Well, first of all this is rental car and I don’t know it very well. Second, I swear I turned it just like you did but it didn’t move.”

Already tired of standing on one foot, Murdoc rolls his eyes and begins to hop back to the driver’s seat. “Whatever, just fill the tank.”

“Wait, Murdoc!” 2D calls after him. “What button do I press next? Is is regular? Or diesel?”

Murdoc takes a quick survey of their surroundings. Outside of the gas station there isn’t much except for flat, arid desert and ominous looking oil rigs that, from a distance, take the appearance of some sort of otherworldly beast. They’re the only travelers at this station, and it leaves him with an uneasy feeling especially as the sun gets lower in the sky. There isn’t anywhere to hide, no forest to get lost in or city streets to blend into; they’re completely out in the open. “Regular,” he grumbles. “And...hurry, okay?”

2D seems to sense his growing discomfort and nods. The his stomach growls. “I, uh, think I’ll buy some snacks for the rest of the way while the tank is filling, if that’s alright. Do you want anything?”

“Sure.” He hasn’t had a lot to eat today besides beer. “I’ll take whatever they have in there that’s warm.” He takes another hop back towards the driver’s side when he catches 2D pulling a large pile of cash out his jacket pocket. This stops him. “What the hell is all that?”

“Oh this?” 2D holds up a few hundred dollar bills. “It’s our money.”

“Put that away!” Murdoc tries to push his hands down, eyes darting back and forth. “Someone’s going to think you’re a drug dealer or better yet, they’ll just think you’re incredibly rich and stupid and try to rob us. Where in Satan’s name did you get all that?”

“I got it out of the bank when we were in New York,” 2D says. “So we wouldn’t have to make any purchases with our bank cards. It makes it more difficult if for Noodle or Russel and one of his deep web activist mates to track us down. The last purchase under my name that they would be able to find is that restaurant where we had our first date.”

His thought process makes sense. Murdoc is even a little bit embarrassed that he wasn’t thorough enough to have thought of it first. He had simply been allowing 2D to pay for everything while he wallowed in his own thoughts and thankfully, the singer had been prudent in his decisions. And he wants to tell him this, to express his appreciation but what he blurts out instead is, “Our first date?”

2D chuckles. “At the Thai restaurant. You remember that?”

It feels like years ago and he had been afraid then like he was afraid now. Their conversation drifts back to him in pieces and images of 2D bumming a cigarette off of him in the middle of their meal and gazing at him while he rambled about his worries and drank the wine they stole from the elderly professor’s home. He remembers 2D’s words about seeing something in him, even then. For as damaged as his eyesight was, 2D saw so much while Murdoc felt completely blind. “Right,” he says soberly. “I do.” How many signs had he missed over the course of their journey? Over the entirety of their careers? He’s struck by the urge to uncover those moments. “That was really...kind of you. I don’t think I quite got it at the time because I was being a wanker that day...thank you.” The car, which was once a priority to return to drifts to the back of his mind as he waits, frozen, to see how 2D reacts.

“...You’re welcome.” His words are brief but the warmth of his voice and in his eyes carry the comforting weight of closure. The memory was no longer clouded by miscommunication and obliviousness. They truly shared that memory now. It was their first date.

“I, err, ought to get back to the car,” Murdoc says. “If this bloody foot isn’t the end of me. But put the cash _away._ ”

* * *

2D comes out with two personal size pizzas, an assortment of crisps and a plain black notebook which he sets on the passenger’s seat. “Your new journal,” he says with a grin before returning to put the nozzle back and twists the gas cap back into place.

It’s a simple black and white composition notebook. Murdoc hardly remembers asking for it until he gives it more thought. He had mentioned it at a time when he was feeling hopeful, and it came to him as a hopeful thing to say. Since then, the moment had passed and it was no longer in his head though it had clearly lingered in 2D’s. “Oh, er, thanks,” he musters to say once 2D rejoins him in the car. Had he known the 2D would follow through on his request so promptly he might not have said it, but it was too late now.

They drive for another few miles. Eventually, he pulls the car over onto a side road so they can both eat.

“So, uh, I was thinking,” 2D says through a mouthful of food while he stares at his phone. “We should each make up a character.”

Murdoc takes a drink from his beer and gives him a confused look.

“You know, to blend in more.” 2D holds up his phone. Murdoc can see that he’s playing a movie on it, but he doesn’t recognize it. “Like, right now the character I’m coming up with is a bloke named Wallace Hockers who grew up on a cheese farm in Wisconsin but left to pursue his dream of becoming a host of his own variety show in Hollywood. He dyed his hair blue to rebel against his parents...who are Amish. And he talks like this.” 2D says the last sentence in an unrecognizable accent, somewhere between Irish and Canadian.

Murdoc raises an eyebrow. “Irish?”

“No...I just told you he’s from Wisconsin.” 2D appears disappointed in himself. “Let me try again.” He pauses the movie he’s playing and pulls up another tab. “So that was Mrs. Lundegaard on the floor in there,” he recites. “And I guess that was your accomplice in the wood chipper…”

It sounds like he’s reading a script, at least Murdoc hopes he’s reading a script. He laughs at him. “You’ve lost me now,” he says through a mouthful of pizza.

“It’s _Fargo_ ,” 2D says. “Duh.”

“2D do you think anyone with a working brain cell is going to fall for your act if all you do is quote _Fargo_ at them in a bad accent?” Murdoc asks. “You don’t even sound midwestern. You sound like a twat.”

“Well this is just my first time watching it.” 2D pulls out his headphones and places one earbud in his right ear. “And I have all night. Besides, I don’t see you coming up with anything better.”

“I’m just not going to talk to anyone anymore.” Murdoc glances out the window when he thinks he sees something move. “Not until my foot heals.”

“I thought you would say something like that so I started making up one for you, too. Do you want to hear it?”

“No.”

“I haven't decided on your name yet but I know we met because your car broke down in my Amish village and I saved you.”

“You know part of creating a fake identity is making it’s believable.”

“I’m good at fixing cars,” 2D says. “You said so yourself at the gas station. So, what kind of accent do you want? It can’t be British. I personally think it should be southern since you’re also a Saints fan.”

As the food settles in his stomach, Murdoc can feels his eyes getting heavy. At the beginning of the day he thought he might be able to get them to New Mexico in one day. Now he isn’t sure. But the road they’re on is remote with no motels in sight. “2D, I can’t follow a word you’re saying right now so it’s probably best that you shut up so I can drive.” He starts up the car.

“You’ve been driving all day,” 2D stops him from shifting into drive. “What if I drove for bit? Or how about finding somewhere to stay tonight?”

“Good luck with that.” It’s a tempting offer. It would be 2D driving his usual speed limit abiding pace but at least they would be moving without the risk of driving off the road because of him being too weary to focus.

2D unbuckles his seat belt. “No matter what I’m driving...so if you would…” He gets out of his seat and pats it, as if to beckon Murdoc over.

So with a sigh, Murdoc listens without protest and drags himself into the passenger seat. It’s a clumsy move to execute without leaving the car and he can hear 2D laugh quietly as he tries to twist himself back into a sitting position without hitting his foot on anything. “Oh aren’t you a supportive boyfriend,” he snips.

“You said ‘boyfriend,’” 2D teases.

He did, didn’t he? Murdoc just huffs and pushes the seat back so he can kind of lie down. But throughout his settling 2D doesn’t start the car. “So are you driving or not?” He eventually asks.

2D is scrolling through his phone, driving seemingly the last thing on his mind. “Oh...yeah, I’ll get to that,” he says. It’s followed by a yawn. “But I’m tired, too. So, uh I think I’ll rest my eyes for a little while. I’m setting my alarm for two hours from now. You can keep sleeping, but I’ll start driving after that. Okay?”

It isn’t okay. But Murdoc reiterates to himself, too, that they had driven all day, long enough to have built up enough distance between him and the entity after him to linger for two hours. And he hasn’t felt his shoulder all day. “Two hours,” he repeats. “Two hours and if you aren’t awake and on the road I’m taking back driving privileges.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get us there. We’ll be in New Mexico before you know it.” With a content sigh, 2D pushes his seat back until they’re eye level. He meets his gaze and grins. “Hey, Muds, do you want to see if you can fit back over here on my side? I bet it would be warmer.”

It’s a silly and impractical proposition but Murdoc notices his hands starting to sweats anyways. Briefly, he considers accepting until memories of their last experience - every experience if he’s being honest with himself - stop him and he wonders why 2D is so eager to try to have sex with him again. “Christ, 2D. We’re trying to _sleep_. And you’re only doing so for two hours.” He swings an arm over his eyes to block out what little light from the stars seeps through the windows. It feels unnatural for him to reject an intimate moment but it would feel even worse to start another argument or push him away. Again.

“Oh…” 2D sounds surprised as well. “Well if you change your mind, I’m right here.” He maintains a lighthearted tone to his voice despite Murdoc’s dismissal.

Murdoc gives him a thumbs up but doesn’t say anything back. Then he drifts off.

* * *

When he open his eyes it’s still dark, darker than he remembers it being before he fell asleep. 2D is snoring lightly in driver’s seat, unmoved. Somewhat confused, Murdoc has to take a moment to understand what exactly is going on. Either the singer didn’t set his alarm like he said he would or Murdoc woke up before him. A quick glance at his phone tells him it’s the latter and it only adds to his confusion. He’s used to waking up in the middle of the night because of nightmares. It never happened peacefully. Stranger yet is how rested he feels.

He surveys the car, stomach turning with suspicion. Why was he awake? How did it happen? “Piss,” he mutters quietly to himself. “I have to take piss...that’s all...” That had to be it. Nothing odd about that.

There are only empty cans of beer in his vicinity, which, to his annoyance rules out going in a bottle. He would have to go outside. So, begrudgingly, he gets out of the car and steps into the darkness.

It’s chillier than he remembers it, and so much darker. It required significant effort to avoid falling as he hops towards the trunk, keeping one hand on the vehicle to maintain his balance. Only the sound of himself - his annoyed muttering as he leans on the car, the unzipping of his zipper, the crumpling of the gravel under his foot - are apparent to him. The surrounding silence is eerie.

The desert is vast and lonely. Even though he knows 2D is in the car, standing there on his own he feel like he could be the only human on earth.

Then out of the corner of his eye he sees movement.

Immediately he snaps his head in its direction, fists clenching in preparation for...something. Then he sees them again.

Lights.

They appear the same way they did when he saw them in the woods, flickering on and off, still a distance away.

_When you see those lights, follow them._

He looks back at the car, feeling indecisive and queasy. What if he didn’t come back? What he was hurt again and left stranded in the desert? He grasps his necklace and tries to picture the raven. _What should I do?_ He squeezes his eyes shut and asks it the question over and over.

The bird is there when he opens his eyes. It sits perched on top of the car, watching him silently through blank, dead eyes.

Murdoc stares back and waits. It doesn’t say anything to him, but its silence is enough for him to understand he needs to go. _Is it safe?_ He wonders, hoping for more reassurance. It tells him nothing.

He’s afraid to go and with his injured foot he knows that he’s more vulnerable than he usually would be. But he lets go of the car and begins to hop away motivated by his emotional exhaustion and determination to overcome, to win. Because that was who Murdoc Niccals was. Someone who would rather die trying to live life his way than just give up. Right?

But he’s still so scared.

As he goes, he makes a mental list of possible escape plans. He has one of 2D’s flick knives in his pocket, and he has his necklace. Worst case scenario he could still punch and bite and scratch. He just isn’t going to be able to run.

To be certain, he tests his foot by tentatively putting some weight on it. Immediately, the cuts start to sting so he tries a different approach - resting weight only on his heel and finds it exponentially more comfortable. He has to hobble, but at least he can use both feet.

The farther he gets from the road, the more it seems as if he’s leaving more than 2D and the car behind. It’s as if he leaving for another universe or galaxy. The dead silence, with the exception of his own breathing and the faintest sound of his heartbeat, is all-encompassing. He is alone. There’s no denying that he is alone.

The lights lose their shape the closer he gets. They spread into the shapeless form a of fog that makes him feel lightheaded when he breathes in. _Pay attention,_ he tells himself, squinting through the murk. But he hears before he sees.

The sounds are slow, lumbering, like a chorus of death rattles and sighs all around him. They make him even more aware of his own heartbeat and pulse, and they pound in his ears. It almost makes him turn around but he’s fearful to acknowledge that he wouldn’t know which direction to turn, and the thudding sound that tormented him so persistently the day before makes him more inclined to freeze than anything else.

Soon, he sees a collection of indistinguishable shapes scattered among the dirt and rocks in front of him, and something compels him to get closer. It’s a difficult task. Each step leaves him dizzier than the last.

As his version blurs he starts to see other images. He sees 2D in front of him, wearing his New Orleans Saints hat and a backpack on his back. The singer looks at him and waves at him with a tenderness in his eyes. Murdoc wants to join him, wherever he is, but the image fades as soon as appears. Then he sees a vast stretch of barren land. It’s different than where he is now, and the sweat beading on his brow is indicative of how much warmer it is. He watches as long, black, claw-like fingers break the surface of the ground like pointed spider legs and the thumping is his ears becomes louder. The scene fades again and it’s dark again. He sees shadowy figures standing in a circle in the distance.

Beginning to panic, he’s about to turn and run when he’s back where he was, surrounded by glowing fog. He hears crack when he takes a step and when he looks down, he sees that he’s standing in the collection of objects he saw moments earlier only they’re much clearer now.

_Bones._

The rattled breathing is even louder now, almost accusatory as if something knew he didn’t belong there. He stares at them closely feeling fainter the longer he stares. His gaze lingers on a cracked skull lying beside his uninjured foot. As terrified as he is to move his mind nags him to reach for it.

He grabs it and a piece of it, right where the eye socket is, breaks off.

Then something grabs him from behind.

Terrified, he yells and lurches away. When it doesn’t let go he begins to kick and twist and elbow, unsure of who or what he’s fighting.

“Murdoc!” He’s about to reach in his pocket of the flick-knife when 2D’s voice reaches his ear. “Murdoc, calm...calm down!”

 _2D._ So he was the one holding him. Still in his panicked state, pushes him away anyways and, without thinking takes a step forward as if to run away bearing all of his weight on his left foot. Immediately, a sharp pain shoots up his leg. A cry escapes him and he recoils, losing his balance. Desperate not to fall he claws at the car for something to get a good grip on. He’s unsuccessful, hitting the concrete of the road hard. _The car? The road?_ He can’t makes sense of where he is so he lies there, quivering.

“It’s just me, Muds,” 2D says softly. “Just me.”

Moments ago he was in the middle of the desert surrounded by an eerie mist and now he was on the ground next to the car like he never left the area.

“What were you trying to do, Muds?” 2D crouches down beside him, taking care not to get too close to him too soon. His voice is small and frightened. “Why...were you standing in the middle of the road?”

 _The middle of the road?_ “Wha..what?” The lingering disorientation makes it difficult to form words.

“When my alarm woke me up you were gone,” 2D explains. “When I got out the car to look for you, you were standing over in that lane just...stumbling and swaying. It was like you were in some sort of trance. Your eyes were open but I could tell you weren’t in there because you were standing on both of your feet like and didn’t seem uncomfortable at all...and there was a car coming...I had to grab you…or you would have been hit.”

Murdoc keeps his eyes down as he attempts to process exactly what 2D is telling him. “I...I was in the desert...I swear,” he says. “I saw those lights again and I did what she said and followed them...and they led me into the desert…” _Not the bloody road_. But he isn’t in the desert now so he imagines to 2D he must look like a liar.

2D is silent. “We should probably go,” he says after a while. “I don’t think it’s safe here.”

Murdoc doesn’t make any effort to move. “I could’ve died.” He looks at the road. “If you hadn’t found me...I would have been splattered all over the concrete.”

“But I did,” 2D says. “That’s what matters.” He rests a hand on his shoulder. “But I don’t think we should stay much longer...do you need help standing?”

Murdoc chuckles and pushes himself up. “You’re starting to sound like me.” His limbs quiver under his weight and he has to stop for a rest mid-movement.

“You were in the road, Murdoc,” 2D insists. “When I saw you I thought I was dreaming. Then I thought...I thought you were trying to kill yourself, then I thought that thing might be possessing you...I was scared.” He reaches out a hand for Murdoc to take.

Murdoc unwilling to allow 2D’s words to add to his own paranoia. “If I were to try and off myself I’d be more creative than that,” he says as he accepts his hand. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the gravity of the situation right now, he wants to forget it happened.

“Just lean on me,” 2D says, and Murdoc listens.

As they walk, his heard won’t stop pounding. He makes a frustrated sound and pulls himself closer to 2D so that he’s no longer leaning on him. Instead, he’s closer to hugging him which makes it significantly more difficult for 2D to guide them and keep Murdoc upright. “2D,” Murdoc says, lips brushing against the skin of his neck. “2D…”

“What is it?” 2D remains unwavering in his mission to get Murdoc the to passengers side of the car and pulls them both another step. He turns his face to him when he speaks trying to read his expression.

Murdoc flashes him a grin. It’s exactly what he wanted to happen, and he takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around his neck and kiss him. And for a few seconds, 2D indulges him but he cuts their closeness short to open the car door. “Come on, Muds,” he says, looking from him to the car.

Murdoc limps towards the the seat as he assumes 2D wants him to, but when he tugs the others hand to come with him, he’s met with no response. He tugs again and when 2D doesn’t follow he returns to him and kisses him again, this time with more desperation. And again, 2D kisses him back but breaks the kiss soon after. “That one’s for the road,” he says. “But now we’ve got to go.”

“You can’t be serious,” Murdoc snaps. The irritation in his voice surprises him.

It seems to surprise 2D as well. “I could say the same to you,” he replies. “You were just talking about how you almost died.”

“And _you_ were all ready to shag earlier this evening,” Murdoc argues.

“That was before…” 2D begins. “That was before...all of this.” Then he adds, “Sorry that seeing you frightened doesn’t immediately make me want to stick my dick up your arse, or vice versa.”

“I’m not frightened!” Murdoc protests. But he doesn’t protest when 2D gently pushes him down into the seat. The gesture is a decisive one and he feels himself losing the will to argue. “My heart won’t stop pounding,” he says quietly.

2D brushes his bands out his face. “Just try to breath, alright? My therapist always tells me to spending three seconds inhaling and three seconds exhaling.” He places a chaste kiss on his forehead. “I’m afraid, too,” he says.

Murdoc doesn’t try to pull him back when he returns to the driver’s seat. Instead, he gazes out into the desert as they pull away. He doesn’t see any lights as they leave, he doesn’t see anything.

* * *

The rest of the night is restless for both of them. Murdoc doesn’t think he sleeps in anything longer than half hour blocks. 2D stays awake as well and refuses to let him drive. The sun is low in the sky by the time he pulls onto the shoulder of the road again...somewhere in New Mexico.

“Where are we?” He asks. The terrain is Martain in its appearance. If someone had told him they had left earth overnight he would have believed them. “We’re still in the states, right? You didn’t drive us into another dimension while I was sleeping?”

2D rubs blinks doggedly, trying to keep his eyes open. “We’re just about an hour or so outside of Albuquerque...that’s what the phone says.” He yawns. “It should be safe now...at least for a little while.”

Murdoc turns on his side and winces when something sharp pokes him. Frowning, he reaches into his jean pocket and pulls the object out.

“What’s that?” 2D asks. “Is that a…?”

His mouth goes dry when he sees it. It’s the piece of skull from desert that he had grabbed. He didn’t think he had been successful in taking it. “Yeah…” he says. What was he supposed to do with it? Why did he take it in the first place? “I told you...those things led me out into the desert, not the road. There was a whole collection of these out there…”  
  
“And you _stole_ one?” 2D is incredulous.

“I don’t know!” Murdoc yells. “Something...something told me a I bloody had to. So I guess I did.”

2D gazes out the window. “I don’t know why she told you to follow them.” There’s a resigned tone to his voice.

“Well, she did.” Murdoc says firmly. “And when I see them again I’m going to follow them again.”

2D’s expression when he looks at him is sad, almost like he’s grieving him. “Did you see anything?”

He isn’t sure he wants to share that. None of the images made sense and most of them left him with a growing feeling of dread. 2D’s downcast mood doesn’t make him feel any better. For all his earlier enthusiasm the singer sure did seem to fold easily, and right when Murdoc needed that attitude more than ever. “Yeah,” he says. “...You.”

“Me? Was...I doing anything?...Was I dead?”

“You weren’t dead,” Murdoc says. “You...were waving at me. It was nice, I guess, relative to the other mental shit I saw.”

“She said that they all mean something,” 2D says. “Did any of them make sense? Did you recognize any of them?”

Murdoc wracks his brain. He considers what they knew so far - that he had a history of talking about things before they happened or decades after they had happened with others when he was drunk. The vision he saw last night had to be more of the same. They were either from the past or from the future. The 2D vision was clearly from the future but he has no idea how to interpret it. The others are even more unsettling regardless of when they occurred. He groans. “No, none of them. They’re supposed to be of things that I couldn’t possibly know because I either wasn’t there or they haven’t happened yet.” He stews in his irritation and then adds, “Why are we stopped here anyways? In the middle of the bumfuck nowhere?”

2D closes his eyes as he processes the questions. “Because I’m tired and…” He pauses to yawn again. “I think I should get some shut-eye.”

“Then let me drive.”

“Uh…” He looks down at his hands on the wheel. “I don’t know, Murdoc. You barely slept either and after what happened last night…”

“Exactly! Let me drive so I don’t wander off again.”

2D hesitates. “You won’t wander off...the lights don’t appear when it’s daytime, right? But you could fall asleep driving or...I don’t know...something could go wrong.”

Murdoc unhooks his seat belt anyways. “I could barely keep still last night because I couldn’t get my brain to shut off. I need something to focus on besides all this shit in my head and I think both of us will feel better the sooner we get to our next stop.” Not waiting for an answer, he opens the door and leaves.

“Murdoc wa-”

And then he slams the door shut. Now 2D would have no choice but to get out and help him. And if he didn’t, he could easily make himself appear more fragile by falling or exaggerating his limp.

As if on cue, 2D is out of the car. “Oh, come on,” he says, clearly understanding exactly what he’s trying to do.

“If you’re going to sleep then I’m going for a walk. Either I drive or I wander.”

2D lets out an exaggerated sigh and begins to walks towards the passenger side. “ _Fine_.”

* * *

Murdoc gets them to their next stop, a church, within the next two hours. It’s a remote location, far up in the mountains with just a few small abandoned homes in the neighborhood, if he could even call it that.

2D is asleep next to him, as he’s been for the entire length of the drive. It’s a pleasant surprise. Murdoc expected his worrying to carry on the entire trip but instead, he fell right to sleep and stayed asleep.

Murdoc takes advantage of the alone time to park the car in the dirt parking lot and verify the address on the envelope along with the letter it contains.

The building has an earthy appearance, made entirely of adobe save for the windows. Murdoc might describe it as picturesque if it wasn’t for the mournal feeling he’s left with as he takes in the dry forest, sandy soil and a few abandoned homes around him. It’s beautiful but lonely where they are, and he wonders how his mother arrived to such a distant part of the world, 8000 feet above seal level.

He slips her picture and the letter in his pocket before leaving, and he’s cautious when he closes the door. 2D could join him later.

The doors to the church are unlocked, so he makes a cautious entrance. They creak and groan as he pushes them like they haven’t been opened for centuries and he’s greeted by a thick cloud of dust when he takes his first step inside.

After a few sneezes he settles into one of the pews, still on guard in part because he knows something is after him but also because he’s never gone into a church willingly and he swears he can sense the eyes of the statues sending accusatory glares at him, judging him. He feels out of place and uncomfortable and confounded that his mother may have been gullible enough to buy into an organized religion. Taking another furtive glance around the chapel, he pulls out the letter.

_Dear Murdoc,_

_I saw you in a dream last night, at least I believe it was a dream. There was a sad expression as you sat in your room writing. It’s painful for me to know he still has you there but then again, if he didn’t I wouldn’t know how to find you. I hope in my heart that you’re reading these, somehow, even though I hear nothing back. You probably don’t believe I’m coming back. Sometimes I even wonder whether or not you know I exist. I do exist. I’ve just made so many mistakes that only seem to take my farther away from you. But I’ve begun something new, something that may help us communicate better and keep him away from you. They tell me it’s dangerous and immoral but this religion has never made up my entire belief system. I hope it will help you see me. I hope it will help you see. Love, Mom._

Suddenly there’s a loud crash like someone or something being thrown against the window by his head. Instinctively, he jumps away, only catching a glimpse of the dark form as it falls from view.

The experience freezes him in place. Was he safe in the church? What was it that just hit the window? After a few minutes of consideration he gets up and tries to see what he can from the window. There’s mountain range and forest in the distance, and as he brings his gaze further down and closer to the immediate surroundings he sees gravestones.

There’s a tiny cemetery contained by a rickety wooden fence next to the church. Murdoc counts about twelve to fifteen gravestones and gulps, unsure what to make of the sight. It still didn’t answer what hit the window and the window is too high up for him to see down to the ground. If he wanted to know, he would have to go outside.

The prospect brings the queasy feeling back and he can feel his heart begin to race again. Gripping her letter in his hand he stays where he is by the window, for the second time that day unable to move. He doesn’t know how long he plans to stay there, and he never finds out.

“There you are.” 2D pokes his head around the corner and breathes a sigh of relief. “I’ve been up and down the road looking for you, in the house, near the woods...This is the last place I thought to look.”

Murdoc blinks.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” 2D sounds slightly annoyed now. “After last night how am I supposed to know whether you’re alright or not?”

This snaps him out of fear’s grips. “You’re not my mum,” he says. “And remember what you said - it’s ‘daytime’ so everything should be ‘fine.’”

2D glares at him, his efforts to contain his annoyance is visible. “You’re infuriating,” he says after a while before adding, “So, uh, Is this the address?” Murdoc assumes the statement is a concession.

“You bet,” he mutters. “And I’m just as uncomfortable in here as you would imagine.”

“Does she say why she came?”

Murdoc shoots a suspicious glance back at the window. “I’ve only got one letter with me.”

“What does it say?”

“It doesn’t make a bit of sense, as usual. She just talks about how she saw me in one of her dreams and that she still doesn’t know when she’s coming back.” Going by the date on the letter he would have been just shy of his twentieth birthday when she sent it. “Lucky for her I wasn’t exactly expecting her.” In a way he’s almost grateful that his father hid them from him. If he had read them as they arrived he’s sure they would have demoralized him beyond repair. They may have even robbed him of his drive to create Gorillaz. He had been desperate as a child, so desperate that he would have believed in anything a moderately kind adult told him and the thought of him believing so earnestly in his mother only to slowly realize she was never going to come back for him is excruciating for him, even in theory. At the same time, he refuses to thank his father for anything.

“She had a dream about you?”

“It’s nonsense, Stu,” he says. There had been many times where he sat in his room and wrote songs but she doesn’t provide enough description for him to truly believe she saw him. He turns his attention back to the window. “I was about to, uh, take a look at those graves out there.” Danger or no danger there was no way he was going to stay in a church forever. At least now, whatever he finds he wouldn’t find alone. He begins to walk, “So I’m going to do that, and you can come with me or not, and you can’t bitch that I didn’t tell you this time.”

2D follows him and they exit the church from a side door that opens directly into the graveyard. Murdoc eyes go right to the pile of dark feathers by the side of the church.

“Oh...poor bird,” 2D comments. “Is that a raven?”

It is.

It lies there with its wings spread and its neck twisted an an unnatural angle, lifeless eyes still wide open, seemingly staring at him. Murdoc takes in the grim sight, a stoic expression on his face. But inside he feels nauseous and his own neck starts to ache.

“It isn’t your raven, is it?” 2D asks.

As much as he wants to leave, he’s paralyzed.

“Murdoc…?”

 _2D. Just 2D._ Using all the effort he has he turns away from the bird so that he’s facing the graves instead. Directly in front of him is a a grave marked by a stone cross with no name carved on it. Next a glimmer of light catches his eye and he sees the chimes. Without thinking, he sinks to the ground.

2D doesn’t say anything more but Murdoc can sense he’s come to the same conclusion when he crouches down beside him. As if guided by some outside force, he reaches his hand out and grabs the chimes. Sure enough, he sees the distinct raven shape carved into the square sheets of mental. “It’s...her,” he says, voice wavering. “Fuck.”

“No...that...that can’t be right,” 2D says. “She wrote you letters from other locations dated after the one from New Mexico…”

“That’s not what I mean,” Murdoc says. From the glimpse he had of the others, there were a number of letters from different stops in New Mexico and he presumes there will be something waiting for him at each one.

He continues to digs his hands into the dry dirt. When he his hands are full he throws the dirt to the side and repeats the same action again, and again.

“Murdoc…” 2D takes a few nervous glances around them. “What are you doing?” There’s urgency in his whisper. “Someone might see! you”

“And I’ll tell them to sod off,” Murdoc says. “This could go faster if you pitched in.”

“They bury coffins really deep.” 2D crosses his arms. “You can’t do that with just your hands. It’ll take all day.”

His response makes Murdoc dig more vigorously. “Tell me, 2D, does it look like anyone besides us has been to this place in the past decade? Those homes are almost falling apart. Nobody’s going to see us.” As he’s talking his attention is drawn back to grave when his hands touch something other than dirt. There, barely breaking the surface, is a glimpse of burlap. “Shit.” It only makes his digging more frenzied, and as soon as he’s able to get a good grip on it, he pulls.

Meanwhile 2D circles him, hand fidgeting as if he’s deciding whether to help him or keep watch for locals. “Be careful,” he says.

Murdoc ignores him. His eyes are watery from the amount of dust floating in the air and into his eyes and nose and his body continues to ache but he isn’t going to leave without looking into this bag. When the bag won’t budge he digs out more dirt and pulls again. Finally, it comes loose.

For a moment, he sits there hugging it to his chest and panting. The shape of the sack alone gives him a good idea of the bag’s contents and he’s afraid of what affect it may have on his body or state of mind to look inside. He was beginning to learn that the closer he was to his mother’s magic, the entity, or his own intrusive memories, the more he seemed to hurt. They were all connected somehow. “See,” he pants. “What did I tell you?”

Pushing his own fears aside, at least for a few moments, Murdoc opens the bag. At first all he sees are are more charms. But there’s a larger, rounder object in the bag all the way at the bottom. It’s frigid cold to touch and his eyes widen when he sees it. It’s a skull.

Murdoc looks it over and realizes it’s falling apart - with pieces of mandible and teeth scattered among the charms. But part of the bone around the eye socket is also missing and as if on cue, he swears he can feel the bone he took from the desert burning in his pocket. Wincing, he pulls it out and holds it up to the skull. It fits perfectly.

“Murdoc…”

There’s a sharp, disquieting sound in his ears, like a rusty nail being dragged along chalkboard. He sees 2D again, very briefly, and then water, vast boiling water, and then the book he lost floating through it, and then his father’s grinning face. Then the images change so rapidly he loses track of them. The sound persists and leaves him with a terrible pain between his eyes. He can’t stop a whine from from forming in his throat as he squeezes them shut and grips the bag in his hands, trying to lessen his discomfort.

Then he feels the weight of the skull being lifted from his lap and the sound and images stop. When he opens his eyes he sees 2D sitting beside him, skull in hand. “G-give it back,” he says, voice weak but urgent.

There’s a nervous air to 2D’s face. “Are you sure?”

“That’s my shit that I have to bloody deal with. _Mine._ ” He holds the bag open so 2D can drop it in. “And I’m going to deal with it.” But he head is hurting badly now and he’s shaken by the visions. _What did you do, mum?_ He wants to ask her or write her.

2D hesitates but eventually listens.

Murdoc then ties the bag shut and gets up. He kicks some of the dirt he removed back into the hole, a half-hearted effort. Then he heads back to the car.

“Wait...you’re taking it?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Why?” There’s distress and confusion in 2D’s voice while he follows. Murdoc can’t understand why when he has so much less to be afraid of.

“Because I have to,” he says. “That’s what they all said - collect the votives at every location. So that’s what I’m doing...and I think I’ve finally got an idea of what she was doing.”

“But you looked afraid…”

Murdoc is forceful when he throws the bag into the back seat. “Of course I was,” he says. He’s angry, not at 2D or himself, but angry everything else - everything that happened to him, his father, even his mother. “And you know what? I don’t think I care anymore. I’ve been so fucking afraid of everyone and everything my entire life and I all I ever did was try to make myself believe that I wasn’t. And all that did was fuck me up more and give me more to be afraid of.” Unable to kick with his injured foot, he opts for kneeing the door shut. “And it’s all bullshit. All of this is bullshit! I didn’t ask for any of this. Fuck this demon, fuck my dad and...you know what? Fuck my mum.” He doesn’t truly mean the last part but he’s annoyed with her and he hopes that if they’re connected in the way that he suspects that she hears him, or her ghost hears him and acknowledges his anger.

2D is staring at him, trying to figure out whether he’s having another breakdown or rallying himself. “You...you aren’t giving up are you?”

“No,” Murdoc looks back at the church and glares. “I’m sick of this...and none of it’s fair but if I have to fix their fuck ups and kick another demon’s arse then I will.”

2D flashes him a tentative smile. “Uh...yeah!” He cheers but everything about his face reads, _I hope you haven’t gone completely mental._

Murdoc exhales and shifts his gaze towards the mountains. Maybe he had. But the feeling of powerlessness was chipping away at him and if he allowed it to continue it would surely destroy him. He doesn’t want to stop being Murdoc Niccals. “I just want a chance to live my bloody life...for once.” He hadn’t ever lived, not that he can remember. At 55 maybe he could give it a try. He just can’t give up.

“...I think you will, Muds,” 2D says. “I think...you might have just begun…”

* * *

They drive to the nearest town to get settled into a motel. The room has a dated appearance with a bulky television in the corner and patterned wallpaper. It isn’t exactly somewhere Murdoc would have chosen to stay on a regular day but its shortcomings ar hardly noticed today. As long as it provided him with a place to sit where no one would disturb him, he doesn’t care. He makes sure to drag in everything - his mother’s journals and grimoire, the burlap sack, the bear, his photos. He would have forgotten his own suitcase if 2D hadn’t grabbed it for him.

“There’s hardly any cell phone service,” 2D comments. “Even on data this page is hardly loading.”

Cell phone service was another convenience he is willing to give a pass. It isn’t needed for what he wants to do. He drops his items on the bed and sits down behind them so that he can lean back against the bed frame. When he feels calm enough, he takes the journal with the raven on it and begins to read it.

2D flops on the bed beside him, absorbed in a game on his phone. “What do you think about going to get some breakfast soon?” He asks. “It’s getting close to noon and I’m hungry.”

“Got get it yourself if you have to.” Murdoc can’t understand the language of the written entries.

His tone seems to set off an alarm in 2D’s head. “What happened up there…? When you had the the skull in your hand?”

“More weird visions,” Murdoc mutters. “And now of course she’s writing in that same alphabet I can hardly read…” He tears the next page he turns in frustration.

“Well, maybe if you look at it with a full stomach you’ll understand better,” 2D suggests. Murdoc can’t tell if he actually believes that or he’s making a terrible attempt at a joke.

“For your information, working with human bones and grave desecration is bloody serious,” he says. “You use them when you’re trying to either fuck someone’s life over or give them extraordinary powers...she could have been trying to do both. But the spells are complex and you can easily cock them up...I would know.”

“You’ve cursed someone?”

“No...but I’ve tried.” Part of why he took a job in a cemetery back in Stoke was so he could steal bones from the graves when he worked the late night shift alone. He had wanted so badly to do something like mind control his father into suicide or give him a terminal illness. However, he never got that far, often drinking himself into a stumbling mess and leaving him completely incapable of any covert action. Eventually his boss found out about his drinking binges and fired him. It was like Ava had said, he incapacitated and self-sabotaged himself.

He stops when he stumbles on a page with an upside down triangle drawn on it. “Water,” he says.

2D tilts his head. “Water?”

“The element, water, is symbolized in alchemy by an upside down triangle,” he clarifies. In his head he tries to remember what he had read from his old spell books. “It’s often used in rituals for love, emotions or washing away negative energy...it’s usually used to represent healing.” On the page directly behind it is a drawing of the Americas.

“Okay, so what does that shape represent?”

“Nothing, it’s the continents, idiot,” Murdoc mutters. Then the realization hits him. He flips the page back to the triangle and then back to the map. “It’s...a map,” he repeats and flips them back and forth another few times, heart racing. “2D, do you have a pen?”

“Uh, sure.” 2D roots around in his pocket until he finds the pen. Murdoc grabs it from him.

“Three points on a triangle,” he says to himself, marking each point on the map as it lines up with the triangle drawing on the previous page.

It’s just as he had suspected and he can barely keep his mouthing hanging open in shock as he stares. The first point falls right around North Carolina, the second falls on New Mexico and the third…

“That’s all the way down there,” 2D says. “Hey...isn’t, uh, Peru somewhere around there?”

“That…” Murdoc struggles to find his voice again. “... _Is_ Peru.” It was the final point on the triangle, not a perfectly lined up but there was no other place it could be pointing.

“So...that must be where she wants you to go.”

Murdoc continues to turn the pages furiously. He sees more writing and drawings of ravens, they seem to stare at him from the page. _See_ , he hears repeating in his head but he shoves it aside. When he reaches the final pages he’s greeted by a different drawing, and it’s enough to make him slam the book shut and throw it off the bed.

“What’s that all about?” 2D asks. “That’s a good thing isn’t it?”

Murdoc doesn’t want to believe what he saw. “It’s not that.” He slouches down in the bed, trying to find the strength he had discovered earlier in the morning.

“Can I look?”

Next he throws the baseball cap on his head off the bed. “No…” It would be much easier to pull at his hair now. “What the fuck is going on?” He exclaims.

2D isn’t quick to dote on him this time. Instead, he waits as he faithfully returns to his bag for his liquor, and waits as he drinks until his expression softens. He has enough time to leave the room to buy them some sandwiches that Murdoc avoids eating no matter how persistent he is. So he waits longer until the SyFy channel movie he started an hour earlier ends and their conversation from earlier feels like it was years ago. Only then does he try again, this time turning his attention to Murdoc’s foot. “Have you changed that at all today?” He asks, referring to the bandage.

Murdoc takes a break from his rumination to give the foot a brief examination. The bandage is stained with dirt from the cemetery. The parts of his foot that are exposed are equally dirty. “I don’t know, does it matter?”

2D moves towards the end of the bed so that he can get a closer look. “She said you should change it twice a day, more if you’re going to get it dirty...And I think you’ve done quite a good job of that.”

Murdoc eyes his hand suspiciously as it grazes the pin holding the bandages in place.

“I’m going to look at it, okay?”

As kind as his hands are, Murdoc is wary of him. His body is completely rigid as 2D unwraps the bandage from his foot. 2D’s hands are careful and slow. Murdoc, who is so painfully aware of every sensation of bandage being pulled away and every stay finger that brushes along his skin, appreciates his gradual pace. He’s one abrupt movement away from kicking him, but the longer he proceeds without surprising him, the more lax he can feel his muscles becoming. 2D continues until his foot completely bare and the deep cuts are exposed to the room air, and he sighs in relief and satisfaction.

2D’s hand lingers on his ankle even with the bandages gone. Though he’s still tense, Murdoc rests his eyes shut and hums a sigh of approval. The touch is warm and comforting to him, and he finds himself wishing for more of it if 2D would give it. He focuses on the touch as it drifts lower and lower on his foot until Murdoc can feel 2D’s thumb just millimeters away from the gash on his arch.

Drawing in a sharp intake of breath, he wrenches his foot away. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” 2D draws his hand back. “But I want to make sure it’s not infected.”

“How would you know what’s infected and what’s not?” Murdoc glares at him. It wasn’t the progression of contact he had been hoping for. “What, are you a doctor now too?”

“Well I don’t see you doing anything to make sure you’re okay,” 2D challenges him. “How will you feel if it doesn’t heal and you can’t walk on it for the rest of the trip?”

Murdoc doesn’t like to argue with him when he’s making sense and there isn’t any easy way to make a jab at him so he leans back against the bed and lets out a sound of indignation.

“How about you just let me clean it and re-bandage it?”

“I’ve met my quota of religious imagery for the day,” he says. “Besides, after all that digging in the sun I’d say I’m due for a good bath, and I want to change out of these hideous clothes and back into _my_ clothes that _I_ packed.” _And I want you to keep touching me, and I want to touch you, just not like that_. He doesn’t say the last part. Instead he leaves the bed for the bathroom to do exactly as he had just outlined.

The shower is quick, and once again he finds himself leaving the bathroom in just his towel. This time, he makes sure to walk in front of the TV screen so that 2D will have to look at him on his way to his suitcase. He doesn’t feel as attractive with his limp, but he feels reassured when he catches the singer eyeing him as he pulls up his sweatpants.

Unlike the last time in North Carolina, he doesn’t have any qualms about joining him on the bed with a trouble-making grin on his face. “Enjoying the show?” He says.

“I...uh…” 2D is flustered by his remarks. “I was just making sure you didn’t fall or…” Murdoc dips his head into the crook of his neck. “Uh...hit your foot against something…”

“Hmm?” Murdoc presses more of his body against him.

“I’m being serious,” 2D says sternly “I’ll always fancy you, Murdoc, but right now I’m, uh, more concerned with your state of mind and that you’re remembering to take care of yourself.”

“You’re no fun,” he murmurs into his ear.

2D sighs and strokes his hair. “I don’t want you to take this the wrong way…”

Murdoc feels his heart drop. As desensitized to rejection and criticism as he had forced himself to become, he still found that certain situations and people could hurt him. And as his relationship with 2D has progressed he was realizing that the singer was one of them, possibly the only one still living.

“But do you remember how we promised to take this slow?”

He does. “ _Emotionally,_ yeah.”

“No, we meant physically, too. We made that promise for both of us. Me because I didn’t want to scare you and to give myself time to adjust to actually...being with you. You so you could get used to trusting me…I don’t think we’ve done the best job sticking to that promise.”

Murdoc can feel his throat tightening. 2D wasn’t saying it but he knows he’s referring to the sex they’ve had, and he suspects this conversation was all because of his actions the day before. “That’s not what you said two days ago,” he says. “Calling our nights together ‘beautiful.’” The bitterness in his voice is difficult to hide.

“They were,” 2D says. “And I’m not blaming you, or myself...I, uh, was just remembering some of the conversations I had with my therapist about interpersonal relationships and how they need balance...we sort jumped right to the shagging.”

“Is that a problem?” Murdoc is indignant. “Is your therapist a nun? You know some people just like shagging, what’s the matter with that?”

“I never said anything about stopping,” 2D says. “And no, she’s not a nun. But you said so yourself that you jump and get nervous about certain touches...you were like that when I tried to look at that cut you had on your forehead and you were like that again today when I tried to clean your foot, and you’re always trying to rush us when we’re shagging which makes me worry it isn’t as enjoyable for you as you say it is…”

He isn’t very drunk but he can still feel his eyes beginning to water. 2D didn’t need to list everything that was wrong with him right to his face. He had disclosed his traumas with the singer believing that he would be patient with him and wait for him to get over his issues on his own. This feels like he’s throwing all of that back in his face and rushing _him_.

2D picks up on his growing anguish promptly. “I just want to see if there’s a way to make our interactions easier for you...I’m not trying to make you feel bad.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Murdoc snaps. Then he starts to push himself away.

2D keeps hold of his hand. “Wait,” he says. “I’d, uh...like you to stay...but only if you want to.”

Murdoc wants to be angry with him, and he wants to make him feel bad, but he also notices a pang of guilt as the memory of 2D crying on the beach returns to him. He doesn’t want to make him feel that bad, but he wants him to know that that everything he just said to him hurt and he’s unsure of how to do that. The indecisiveness keeps him in place.

“So, uh…” 2D continues, taking Murdoc’s silences as permission to keep talking. “When you think about being close to another person, what do you think of...besides shagging?”

Murdoc blinks. He doesn’t know. When he thinks of being close he thinks of touching, touching usually led to shagging, that or it hurt or it was unwanted or...he doesn’t want to think about that question any longer. He shifts uncomfortably, his thigh brushing against 2D’s as he moves. He feels all of it and squeezes his hand. “You’re an arsehole, you know that?”

“Okay.” There’s an understanding in 2D’s voice. “Well one way to be close to another person is by talking. So let’s try something - I say three feelings and you say three feelings.”

Murdoc doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll go first then,” 2D says. “Uhmm...nervous, hopeful and...full of food.”

“Cheater, ‘full of food’ isn’t a real feeling.”

“It’s your turn now.” 2D ignores him.

“I’m ticked off at you,” Murdoc says.

“How come?”

“For being an arse and listing everything wrong with me when I already bloody know that.” He’s surprised when his voice cracks mid-sentence.

2D flinches at the tone of his voice, like he’s remembering the beach, too. “Oh…,” he says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way...I guess what I wanted to say was maybe we should...I don’t know. Maybe we should be taking more time to get used to each other...outside of shagging.”

“Yeah, well I don’t know what the fuck you mean by that.” Murdoc’s voice trembles.

2D squeezes his hand back. “May I?”

“May you what?”

“I’m going to put your hand on my face,” he says as he begins to guide his hand up. He rests Murdoc’s hand on his cheek. “This is my face,” he grins.

“No shit.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like you need to shave.”

“Okay, but if you were to go blind tomorrow could you tell it was me?”

“What kind of question is that? What’s the point of any of this?”

2D breathes in and leans into Murdocs hand. “Do you ever watch couples when they walking about the neighborhood or in the grocery store or on TV?”

“No, I’m not a creep.”

“Not like that,” 2D sighs. “I mean like just...seeing them the same way you see other people.”

Murdoc doesn’t think he sees people the way 2D is describing. When it’s not a gig and he knows they don’t have anything to offer him, he ignores them. When they follow him too closely in line at the grocery store or crowd him on the sidewalk he has to strain to keep himself from getting irritable and panicky especially when he isn’t drunk enough. Otherwise, he’d rather pretend they weren’t there.

“They touch each other...not to show off or anything but they hold hands or pat each others backs or wrap their arms around each others waists…” 2D pauses and searches for any sign of epiphany or realization on Murdoc’s face. “Sometimes they ruffle hair or rub the other person’s arm...that’s intimacy too. You like someone so much you want to be close to them, not just to shag them but to be, affectionate. You can get to know someone well through their touches like, uh, another language... I guess you could say we’re all sorta bilingual in that sense.” He moves Murdoc fingers through his hair. “So..maybe we should try it the other way and I’ll tell you what this feels like. I think I’ll always know your hands because they’re a little rough with the calluses on your fingers...they’re definitely musicians hands. And that’s comforting to me too since I’m a musician, there’s a like a shared bond there that’s so familiar even without all the time we’ve spent working together. I think I’d know you even if I didn’t know you...if that makes any sense.”

“Uh…” Murdoc can feel his heart racing as he moves his fingers through 2D’s hair and then down to his neck.

“I’d like to try that more, being like other couples.” There’s caution in his voice. “O-only at your pace, of course...but maybe if we get used to that sort of intimacy, the shagging will get…” He doesn’t finish the sentence but Murdoc know he wants to say something like “easier.” At this point he doesn’t know that he would have the energy to argue with him if he did.

“I know what you’re getting at so you might as well spit it out,” he says. Not too long ago he had run their rental car off the road because 2D had touched his shoulder without warning him. He never considered getting to a point where such a gesture wouldn’t startle him, if that was what 2D was proposing they focus on.

“You know I don’t mean it that way.”

“Yeah, duh…” He stops to breath. “And you know I want to be a prick to you anyways.” He averts his eyes and focuses on the far corner of he bed. “But you’re just telling me what I’ve already told you right?” He must just be angry at himself. That’s what it had always been. Anger towards himself that he took out on other people.

“But it doesn’t always have to be that way,” 2D lets go of Murdoc’s hand and holds his free hand up. “...Can I try touching you?”

Murdoc hesitates. 2D is proposing touching that’s prolonged and slow enough to give his mind an opportunity to wander. But then he asks himself why he even cares. 2D had seen so many of his low points and not once has his commitment to him wavered. Perhaps he actually _would_ always be there like he kept saying he would. So he nods.

He expects 2D’s hand to touch his face but instead he rests his hand on the nape of his neck. The contact causes him to squeeze his eyes closed again and brace himself, even though he knows 2D would never harm him. However, he manages not to flinch and he’s minimally pleased with himself for that.

2D’s hand rests on his neck until Murdoc’s breathing becomes steadier and his eyes reopen. Then he begins to move his fingers, gently massaging him. The kneading elicits a pleased groan from Murdoc, who tilts his head back and grins though his heart continues to pound in his chest. It’s somewhat confusing to him to feel so comfortable yet so wary of the hand touching him. _It’s 2D,_ he reminds himself. _Not ‘the hand’...it’s 2D’s hand. It’s 2D_. But he can’t bring himself to make eye contact with him.

“How does that feel?” 2D asks. “What do you feel?”

“Your hand,” Murdoc says.

“Is that all?”

The fingers on his neck move in a circular motion while his heart and pulse thump like his head did against the wall. “Harder,” he says.

2D listens and kneads his skin with more intensity.

It’s satisfying for a few more seconds. “Harder,” Murdoc says again, twisting the sheets in his hand.

“Okay…” 2D digs his fingers deeper into his muscles. Still, it isn’t enough.

“Harder.”

This time, the massaging stops completely. “Muds…”

“What?” He meets his gaze, eyes hard.

2D just looks at him sadly. He glances down at his hand hold the sheets. “Can...you hold up your hand?”

Murdoc can feel his heart sinking and stares back at him with desperation in his eyes. When 2D doesn’t waver he, he lets go of the blankets and holds up his hand. As they both expected, it’s shaking.

As 2D slips his hand off his neck, Murdoc can feel himself retreating and he lies down, curling up on his side facing away from him.

“Hey, Muds,” 2D says with concern in his voice. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s humiliating, isn’t it?” He doesn’t want 2D to see his face. “The entire time you were touching me I kept having to remind myself it was your hand. It’s as if every hand becomes one, giant, impersonal hand regardless of who’s body it’s attached to….and I have a complicated relationship with hands, especially hands near my face and...yeah.” He sniffs. “But that massage was like the one you gave me back in England...you remember that? I was scared then, too, just like today. But I wanted you to keep going at the same time.” He thinks of the hands that touched him before, of his father’s hands most of all. “I didn’t like what he did...I didn’t...it has nothing to do with that…”

2D is quiet and it makes Murdoc want to curl into himself more. There was a reason why he never told them anything, instead cursing at them or isolating himself in his room. Pulling those words out himself was far more excruciating than any hangover or condescending lecture about his temper. He knew how to defend himself against that. But now nearly any response from 2D risks shattering him.

He feels the singer lie down behind him, wrapping his arm around him and intertwining his fingers with his own, and he feels his breath on his neck when he says. “Just tell me if you want me to stop.”

 _Stop what?_ He wonders. “Yeah,” is all he can say in return.

Then 2D places one reluctant kiss on his neck, and it causes him to breathe in sharply in surprise. But he exhales soon after that and gives his hand a squeeze. It isn’t the pain he had asked for but after last time he decides he can allow 2D to guide him, at least for a little while.

2D correctly interprets his hand squeezing as permission to continue and begins to plant light kisses all along his neck. It sets off all manner of alarms in Murdoc’s head. It gives him the strongest feeling of safety he’s felt in years, strong enough for his shoulders to begin to lower and his heart to skip. At the same time his inner voice, the one that he thought might have finally quieted down, makes its presence known by filling him with thoughts of 2D suddenly holding him down and strangling him or harming him in some other way, and it makes him want to scream and push him away.

But 2D doesn’t do any of that. Instead, 2D begins to hum. Murdoc can feel the vibration of the hum before it fully registers. It’s followed by the warmth of 2D resting his cheek against his neck, pausing in between musical phrases only to give him another kiss. “ _I will always think about you,_ ” he sings quietly before returning to just humming.

Murdoc shivers, nearly overwhelmed and unsure of the response he wants to have. But he doesn’t want to move. “Not that song again,” he says, trying to remain as casual as possible.

“It...was for you, you know,” 2D says.

Murdoc grips his hand tighter. There were so many songs of 2D’s that he brushed aside. Their fifth album happened to be full of those songs. He put on as happy a face as he could for the tour and the fan chats but he made sure to let them know in private just how furious he was at them. But he couldn’t deny how often he’d catch 2D glancing over at him during live performances or how odd he thought it was that each performance included a giant picture of his face. He brushed it off as 2D being weird as he usually was and left it at that. Now he doesn’t know what to say. “W-why?”

“What do you mean when you say ‘why’?” Every time he speaks Murdoc can feel his breath or the movement of his facial muscles.

“I’m a cunt,” he blurts. “I always have been, haven’t I? And I’ve even admitted it like I’m doing now and made promises about how that isn’t what I want to be only to change my mind the next day. Over and over again. Maybe I’m doing it again now. But in case I don’t make it out of this I guess I can try to tell you again - I’m a cunt.”

“You’re not.” The confidence that’s present in 2D’s voice at times still manages to surprise him. “I’ve been with you for awhile now and not once have you changed your mind about this or us...it’s like I said back in North Carolina.”

“ _Why?_ ” He asks again.

“Well why did you go back to Stoke?” 2D asks him. “You hated your dad and you knew he wasn’t leaving anything for you. What were you looking for?”

Murdoc grits his teeth as he tries to fight back a sob. “I..I don’t know,” he finally says. “I guess...I guess I was hoping - stupidly hoping - that maybe there was something there...something that could prove I wasn’t just this kid he hated, that he might have cared about me...that _someone_ cared about me…”

“I know how that feels, too.” That’s all he says, and that’s all he has to say for Murdoc to understand what he’s trying to tell him.

“...Do you think I care about you?”

“I wouldn’t still be here if I didn’t. And you wouldn’t have let me stick around this long if you didn’t.” 2D is smiling against his skin. “I also don’t think the old Murdoc would have put up with all this chatting about feelings.”

“I can’t say this is the most comfortable thing for the new Murdoc either.” He shivers when 2D starts kissing his neck again. “B-but that…” He brushes both of their hands against his chest. “You want to keep doing that? I can slip out of these pants, just say that word.”

“No,” 2D says.

“No?”

“You’re enough for me as you are right now, just lying here.” 2D hums another phrase of ‘Souk Eye’ into his hair. “How does it feel...for you?”

Murdoc glances down at the fingers that hold onto his own. They’re long and the hand they form is large and the nails are a bit dirty but they hold his hand gently. The hand is connected to an arm that is connected the man lying behind him humming as he caresses one of the most vulnerable parts of his body. And he, Murdoc, was allowing him to do that. “Like a miracle…” he says. “It’s not what I thought I wanted though...I like how it feels...I don’t know. It shouldn’t be happening...to me...I don’t know.” The hand holding his was 2D’s hand, the voice behind him was 2D’s voice, the kisses that were far more tender than he knew how to comprehend came from 2D. “But...I know it’s you, Stu.” The other memories were there too, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget 2D.

2D hugs him closer. “What if we just stayed out here? You and me. We could work at one of those meditation centers we keep passing...it’s so pretty out here, and all we do is farm and meditate and no one would ever bother us...peaceful, normal, boring even.”

 _Normal._ The word causes his throat to tighten. “I...I don’t think I even know how to set a table or make a bed properly…” If that’s what 2D wanted then why was Murdoc the one he chose? He’s worlds away from normal. “I’m not...that. I don’t know if I ever could be…”

“And I’m still shit at making pancakes and cleaning the dishes,” 2D says. “I mean like that time you ate lunch with me in the parking lot while Noodle and Russel went to the aquarium and talked to me about Marquis de Sade for hours.”

“It wasn’t _hours._ ”

“Or that time you listened to me talk about which planet was most likely to have life on it - besides Mars - and even argued with me about it...you got really into that one...I forget with tour that was, but that was funny.”

Murdoc snorts. “I remember we nicked a ladder from the roadies and sat on the parked tour bus all night. We ate all of Russel’s leftover pizza.”

“Oh yeah,” 2D chuckles. “He was mad about that.”

“His name wasn’t on it, what did he expect?”

“Stuff like that,” 2D says, returning to their previous conversation. “That what I’m talking about...but only with more couple-y stuff...hand holding, kissing...touching.”

Murdoc’s face falls, the progress he’d just made in recognizing 2D’s hands already feeling so insignificant. “I don’t know, Stu...I don’t know…I’m still so all over the place, okay?” When he exhales his breath wavers. “I don’t even know what’s going to happen to me tomorrow, tonight…” _But please don’t leave me if I can’t._

2D doesn’t say anything for awhile, only holding him and humming. Then, after a few minutes, he begins, “I…” The word hangs in the air, its heaviness palpable as 2D thinks. Murdoc can feel his hand sweating and it makes him nervous, too. “I…” 2D begins again, only to stop again. Murdoc shifts and tries not to say anything. “I..." 2D pauses and just when Murdoc thinks he's going to leave it at that he completes his thought. "...love you, Muds.”

The words knock the breath out of him.

“Please don’t worry…” 2D continues. “You don’t have to say it back right now...I mean that, okay? I guess that’s something I thought I’d let you know...in case it’s like you said and we don’t make it out of this - maybe that monster following you eats you or we accidentally drive the car into a gorge in Peru or...I dunno. I just want to make sure you hear it...so you know...and so I know I had it in me to say it...that’s all I guess. I love you and I’ll be here to annoy you and dig bones out of grave with you until you make me go away.” He chuckles softly, breath hitting his skin and making him shiver again.

He’s unable to find words, unable to latch onto the indecipherable amounts of conflicting emotions stirring around inside him. Most of all, he’s afraid. Afraid that 2D has moved on from encouraging progress to expecting progress, or, conversely, that 2D is only telling him this out of pity or to manipulate him in some way. They’re words he’s never associated with himself yet sought after so pathetically when he was younger. He has them now, and now he isn’t left with the reaction his younger self would have expected. Those words almost make him angry at 2D for throwing them at him when he was already shouldering so much personal baggage - his mother, his past, 2D’s well-meaning yet rapidly growing list of requests about his sobriety, his use of coping skills, his sex preferences.Now he was saying this after just telling him they needed to take they’re relationship more slowly. _Oh, but he only meant the physical part_ , he tells himself. If that was so, he doesn’t think that’s fair but he’s too overcome to figure out how to tell him.

And besides all of that, the words also carry their desired effect and make him want to melt further into his arms. Because he's never heard those words out loud, and if 2D is being as honest as he sounds he wants to believe him.

Murdoc tilts his head, straining to get a glimpse of the singer’s face. 2D shifts so that he can have more room to turn and their eyes can meet. It’s looking into his eyes that Murdoc realizes how little he knows about his thoughts or how he grew from the unassuming nineteen year old working at his uncle’s keyboard shop to the patient yet persistent boyfriend he was now. At least for now, he would try to bury those other emotions and just be there with him.

“Just don’t attempt that bloody Midwestern accent ever again,” he mutters before nestling closer to him. He smiles slightly when 2D laughs again. “And you’ve got me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was mostly a build-up chapter so yeah a lot of loose ends to address...
> 
> Thank you ptaryndactyl, arelyztrippi and 1966jpg on Tumblr for the lovely fanart!
> 
> As always thoughts/feedback are greatly appreciated and keep me going <3\. And please feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns as well!

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, that's chapter 1! I don't plan on adding many author's note but I do want to use to this space to clarify some possible questions that may arise about Murdoc's dad. I know there's a picture floating around where it suggests that he died in the late 90s but according to Rise of the Ogre pg. 241, he's still alive and "talking to the newspapers" about Murdoc during the Demon Days tour. So technically, he isn't confirmed dead. If there's any other source that says otherwise let me know, but for this fic, that's the source I'm going by. 
> 
> This will become more M-rated as the story progresses and I'll be sure to add warnings and tags as I get more used to the tagging system on this site. 
> 
> Otherwise, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Feel free to contact me here or on Tumblr (I'm greywindys) =)


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